


down for the count

by lostnfound14



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: (the mystery is carlos's past), Alternate Universe - Boxing, F/M, Light Mystery Elements, Strangers to Lovers, also lots of punching shit, and punching shit, carlos is jill's boxing coach, carlos is secretive but he distracts with jokes, claire is the annoying but charming best friend, claire loves her dumbass best friend jill valentine, jill is a police trainee, jill is a total hardass but she takes an interest in carlos, mikhael is... mikhael, mixed in with romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23910514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostnfound14/pseuds/lostnfound14
Summary: “Hey, Jill,” Claire greets Jill through the phone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”Jill scoffs at the pleasantry. “I’m checking out that gym you told me about the other day.”She leans closer to get a better look through the window. There’s a sparring session going on in the main ring. A few people with jumping rope. Others are taking out their frustrations on the punching bags. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before at the academy, but the hours she gets in that gym are sprinkled in like grains of rice in a desert. Jill needs an opportunity to let loose.“Oh, yeah? How does it look?” Claire asks in her signature chipper tone.“Perfect.”-Boxing AU
Relationships: Carlos Oliveira/Jill Valentine, Jill Valentine & Claire Redfield, Mikhail Victor & Carlos Oliveira
Comments: 114
Kudos: 118





	1. round 1

**Author's Note:**

> well, this is officially my first foray into the resident evil fandom on this website. back when the re2 remake came out i wrote a lil piece about leon and ada but it's not up to par with my other works on this site. anyway, i watched a playthrough of this game on youtube and one of the first things i picked up on was carlos and jill. their dynamic is easily the most fleshed out of the entire game, aside from carlos and tyrell (RIP), i think? anyway my point is that i saw the potential between them and i started looking for works about them on this website (as people are prone to do). and i have to say so many of the stories about these two are so good! i just hope that i do them justice in this story the way others have, even if it's an alternate universe. thank you for clicking on this story. now, i hope you enjoy.

_“Hey, Jill,”_ Claire greets Jill through the phone. _“To what do I owe the pleasure?”_

Jill scoffs at the pleasantry. “I’m checking out that gym you told me about the other day.”

She leans closer to get a better look through the window. There’s a sparring session going on in the main ring. A few people with jumping rope. Others are taking out their frustrations on the punching bags. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before at the academy, but the hours she gets in that gym are sprinkled in like grains of rice in a desert. Jill needs an opportunity to let loose.

 _“Oh, yeah? How does it look?”_ Claire asks in her signature chipper tone.

“Perfect.”

She called ahead yesterday to get an appointment with a trainer. Hand-to-hand isn’t Jill’s forte, and she wants to be able to hold her own, something especially necessary in her line of work. She can hit a moving target from a hundred feet, but she can hardly throw a punch.

“Carlos!” The nice Russian man, Mikhail, calls when she confirms her appointment. She follows his line of sight to a remarkably fit man unleashing hell on an Everlast. At the sound of his name, he hugs the bag, stopping its swinging, and looks toward them while his chest heaves and sweat drips down his face. His hair is almost long enough to cover his eyes, but not quite. He smiles breathlessly and makes his way over to them, leaning against a support beam and crossing his arms over his chest. He eyes Jill curiously, which makes her swallow and glance down at the ground. 

“This fine young lady has… eh… bought you for the hour,” Mikhail says. Jill’s ears immediately redden and she’s about to object when Carlos does it instead:

“I’m not a prostitute, Mr. Victor,” he says with a glint in his eyes and a half-smile warping his mouth.

“Ah!” The Russian laughs heartily. “I apologize.” He turns to Jill, who is still a bit flustered. “My English is still not the best. I can see you are quite embarrassed. I meant no insult.”

She tries for a smile. “It’s fine.” 

“Well, let’s not waste any more time, uh...” Carlos trails off. He’s waiting for her to fill the silence. 

“Jill,” she supplies.

“Jill,” he repeats, his eyes twinkling. “Follow me.”

She obliges him, and they walk over to an empty corner of the gym. There’s a bag hanging a few feet away from the wall, and a coil of jump-rope resting nearby on the floor. 

“So. How much boxing experience do you have?”

“Um, next to none,” Jill says, feeling an inexplicable twinge of shame. She doesn’t like to be behind.

But instead of looking disappointed, Carlos simply smiles. “Always fun teaching a beginner. So, fundamentals. You left handed or right handed?”

And so begins a journey through the basics of boxing. Jill learns how to jab with her left and cross with her right, as well as the proper footwork to go with both.

“Your punch won’t have that ‘oomph’ if you don’t move your feet correctly,” Carlos explains. She almost chuckles at ‘oomph,’ but holds it back. Instead, she mimics his movement as she throws a cross, and the bag is pushed back a bit further than it was on her last attempt.

“Lookin’ better already,” Carlos muses. She smiles proudly, but subtly.

Carlos decides at one point that she should learn how to avoid a punch. “Now, I’m going to try and punch you,” he warns. She instantly takes a cautionary step backward, and he chuckles. “Don’t worry. I said _try._ I just want to see what your instinct is when you see a set of knuckles coming your way. I’ll even do it super slow,” he assures. “I won’t hurt you.”

The last sentence is spoken with a softer tone. Jill drops her guard, looking hard into his deep brown eyes. She searches his gaze for… something. She doesn’t quite know what.

“You ready?” He asks. She nods. “Okay, here it comes.” He throws a punch as if moving through molasses, giving Jill plenty of time to react how she pleases. As his fist approaches her face, she leans back and away from it, but she leans a bit too far, losing balance and flailing. 

Instead of hitting the floor hard, she is stopped by a broad arm catching her by the small of her back. She refocuses and realizes that Carlos is the one holding her up and looking down at her with that devilish smirk on his face. He’s way closer than he was a second ago.

“That’s why you _don’t_ do that,” he jokes, and Jill straightens, distancing herself from him with a push at his shoulders. Her cheeks burn in embarrassment and she averts her gaze. “Here, let me show you. Now you try and punch me.” 

Jill is quick to throw a jab right where his nose is – or _was_ , because he weaves out of the way by tipping his head to the side and following it with his body. She makes contact with nothing but air. He looks at her from between his gloves that instinctually covered his face with barely-tempered awe. 

“Good technique,” he praises, though haltingly. “Weaving allows you to keep your balance and opens up the chance for a counterattack. Or, you can duck, but that’s kinda flashy, hard to pull off, and you only see it in the movies anyway.”

Jill nods.

“Quiet one, aren’t you?” He’s reaching out. Jill can see that. But the feeling of his gloved hand on her back is still scrambling her brain. It’s too intimate a touch for a boxing session.

“This is a boxing gym. I came here to box,” she deflects. 

“‘Course." Carlos rolls his eyes. "Now let’s try this again. I’m going to try to punch you, just as slow as last time, and you’re gonna dodge out of the way.”

She nods to indicate that she’s ready, putting up her fists like they’re sparring. Carlos throws another punch with his right, and she leans to the left, out of the way. She sees what he meant when he said the move opens a lane for a counterattack, with his bearded jaw exposed and nearly asking to get socked. 

She holds back.

“Nice,” Carlos says. He looks off to a point in the distance, and Jill follows his gaze, to a clock. “I think our time’s up.”

“It’s been an hour already?” She asks, trying not to sound so incredulous (disappointed).

Carlos picks up on it anyway. “Well, if you wanna train with me again, you can always schedule another session.”

Jill looks at him then, her gloved hands falling to her sides, then quickly crossing over her chest. To Carlos’s credit, his gaze never shifts from her face. She tilts her head, trying to get a deeper read on him. He’s kind of a jerk, but she wouldn’t learn anything if he wasn’t. She doesn’t like being coddled, and he certainly isn’t guilty of that.

When he caught her without hesitation, and looked into her eyes, she was barraged with a plethora of emotions she hadn’t felt before. She hadn’t had time for relationships with how hard she pushed herself in school and at the academy, but that look that he gave her is one that she sees in the eyes of her fellow trainee Leon whenever his girlfriend Ada picks him up from class.

But Carlos is a good teacher, and to Jill, that’s what matters above all else.

“I think I will,” she says.


	2. round 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the video, Carlos is pacing around his corner, still in his fighter’s robe, and when the ref calls him and his opponent to the center of the ring, Mikhail, who looks to be his coach, pulls the robe off, revealing Carlos’s impressive figure. Jill sucks in a breath – she’d only seen the outlines of his muscles under the t-shirts he wore during their sessions, and even then they were straining against the fabric. Seeing him in all of his glistening glory is a bit of a shock. There’s a fire in Carlos’s eyes as he stares down the other fighter. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys. sorry it took me so long to post a second chapter. the reason why it took so long is because after writing a few chapters i totally lost any inspiration and ideas that i had for this story, but i had a Thought: you know what? if i have these other chapters completed, why not post them and let the readers enjoy them, right? i like the way these next two chapters go, even though i don't know where to go from there. so here it is. chapter 2. enjoy.

“So how was your session at that gym?” Claire asks Jill around a slice of pizza. She’d ask her to please speak without a mouthful of food but then she’d be guilty of the same thing.

Jill swallows before responding. “It was pretty good, actually. I learned a lot for just one session.”

“Sounds like you had a good teacher,” Claire says, her words finally coherent.

Jill smiles. “Yeah, he was pretty good.”

“Ooh, _he?”_ Claire coos. “Was he a total hunk?” 

“No,” Jill is quick to say, instinctively. But it’s a lie. “Well, yeah, he was, but that’s not important.”

Claire is not that easy to shake off, however. “Hell yeah, it is! What was his name?” She’s always been invested in the prospect of finding Jill a boyfriend, so naturally, she’s latching onto this new piece of information.

Jill sighs. “Carlos.”

“Ooh,” Claire says again. “Did either of you make a move?”

Jill rolls her eyes. “We were _boxing,_ Claire.”

The younger girl raises an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a ‘no,’” she observes, ever so astutely. “So I was right!”

Well, does it really count as a move if it was either her falling hard on the floor or not? 

_He could have caught you by your shoulders just as easily,_ her inner voice muses.

“I… I guess.” 

She is met with an expectant look from Claire. 

“I almost fell on my ass and he caught me,” she elaborates.

Claire laughs, but immediately stops when Jill glares daggers. “Oh, come on,” she appeals. “It’s funny.”

Jill mulls it over. “Kinda. But it was so embarrassing.”

“Did you have a weird ‘looking breathlessly into each other’s eyes’ moment, or what?” 

This makes Jill chuckle. “You watch too many romcoms, Claire.” 

“They have _some_ basis in reality,” Claire whines. 

“Sure, if you’re hallucinating.” Jill points her slice at the other girl and then takes a huge bite out of it. 

After that, thank God, the conversation shifts away from Jill’s (non)romantic exploits with her boxing coach.

Exactly one week after her first session, Jill is back for another. She greets Mikhail near the door and seeks out Carlos. She finds him seated against a wall, chugging from a water bottle.

Shit. Did she interrupt his break?

When he notices her, he waves her over. She hesitates, but eventually walks up to him. 

“You’re a bit early,” Carlos says, looking up at her. 

“Sorry,” she says, ducking her head. 

“Nah, it’s fine. You just couldn’t get enough of this mug, had to jump the gun a bit, huh?” He’s grinning, while Jill purses her lips to keep from doing the same. 

“I actually just wanted to try punching you again,” she says when she’s sure she won’t even give up a hint of a smile. 

He raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try, Jill.”

She pauses when he says her name. It’s casual, like he’s become so used to saying it that it rolls off his tongue like second nature. Then he gets up, putting his water bottle down, and says, “Let’s get started.”

They do a little bit of what they did last week, and this time, when Carlos throws a “punch” she dodges confidently and goes through the motions of a left hook, before stopping her fist inches from his face. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he smiles and pierces her with a challenging gaze.

He introduces her to a pair of mitts, and starts her off by doing a few combos. When her first jab makes a weak _tap_ against the mitt, he reminds her of the importance of footwork. Her next punch makes a resounding _crack_.

At one point, as she throws a cross, her left hand is down, so Carlos gives her punishment in the form of a mitt to the unprotected side of her face. 

“What the hell was that?” She asks, peeved. Carlos smirks. The _nerve_ of this guy.

“Keep your hands up, Jill,” he admonishes. “Your opponent isn’t going to sit there and take it.”

“A little warning would have been nice,” she mutters.

“Just keepin’ you on your toes,” he says, putting the mitts back up. 

Jab, jab, _cross_ and keep the hand up, and just like that, Jill has learned her lesson. The mitt glances harmlessly off of her glove. 

They do some more of that, with Jill easily blocking Carlos’s counterattacks, and throwing loud, aggressive punches that lift the tension off of her shoulders. By the end of their session, Jill has built up a sweat and is breathing hard as she leans against the wall next to Carlos.

“You move like a natural,” he tells her. She raises an eyebrow at him. “I mean it. I get plenty of people who can’t throw a punch for shit. I can see that when you swing you wanna tear a hole in your target.”

The tips of Jill’s ears go red, and she hopes Carlos will chalk it up to her exhaustion. “I just picture my criminal law professor on the other end of it.” Professor Owens _is_ an asshole, after all.

A curious smile takes over Carlos’s face. “You a student?”

“Police academy.”

“Oh, a cop, huh?” Jill notices his smile dimming the _slightest_ bit. Huh. “Don’t they train you for this kinda thing themselves?” He asks.

“Yeah, but 90% of training to be a cop is sticking your nose in a book. Not nearly enough time is dedicated to punching shit.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

A question pops into her head. “So do you box… professionally?”

“Eh,” he makes a _kinda_ gesture with his hand. “I have a few amateur bouts under my belt. But I never really thought about going full-time pro.”

It seems like a touchy subject. Jill can see it in the way his shoulders are tensed, and eyebrows creased. She’s seen the same body language on herself when someone tries to dig too deep.

“Same time next week?” She asks, and just like that the tightness is gone from his shoulders and he’s smiling warmly.

“Sure, super-cop.”

When Jill gets home that night, she boots up her laptop, and out of curiosity, looks up “Carlos Oliveira boxing.” She got his last name from the gym’s website, and while it may be a bit stalker-ish of her, when he told her about his boxing experience she just _had_ to see what he looked like in action.

The first result is a link to some boxing stats website. In five fights, he has two knockouts, one loss, and two split decision wins.

That website has a link to a video of one of his fights – one of the knockout wins. Jill clicks on it and settles on her couch, splaying out on her stomach with her legs crossed in the air.

In the video, Carlos is pacing around his corner, still in his fighter’s robe. When the ref calls him and his opponent to the center of the ring, Mikhail, who looks to be his coach, pulls the robe off.

"Sheesh," Jill says appreciatively.

She’d only seen the outlines of his muscles under the t-shirts he wore during their sessions, and even then they were straining against the fabric. Seeing him in all of his glistening glory is a bit of a shock. There’s a fire in Carlos’s eyes as he stares down the other fighter.

They touch gloves, the bell rings, and the fight starts. Carlos’s hands move quickly despite his impressive size, sneaking their way around his opponent’s guard and knocking him a bit off-balance. With the fixed camera, Jill gets a full 360-degree view of Carlos’s body as he stalks around the ring, following his opponent. His back muscles shift with every sidestep and punch that he throws, his abs like a washboard. 

Jill imagines ghosting the tips of her fingers across his chest, feeling the muscles tense as she teases them with her touch.

She pushes the thought away and skips to the end of the fight. At this point, the other fighter looks like death warmed over, shambling around the ring, his fists constantly dropping from exhaustion as he takes punch after punch from Carlos, who doesn’t look tired in the slightest. There’s a bruise slowly growing on his opponent’s eye, too. 

He throws a punch, a weak excuse of a right hook, which Carlos ducks – she thought he said that only works in the movies – and when he comes back up, he throws a hook of his own. He makes jarring, devastating contact with his opponent’s face, and watches as he sways for a moment, then falls to the ground on his side. Jill sucks her teeth in disgust when he bounces on the mat. Carlos just looks down at his felled opponent for a moment with that fiery gaze and returns to his corner. The video ends.

Jill closes her laptop, her mind swimming with questions. His fighting was a sight to behold. It makes her wonder: if he was that good, what stopped him from pursuing a career? Whatever the answer to that question is was probably what made Carlos recede into himself when she brought it up. 

The truth she reluctantly arrives at is, it’s none of her business to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all enjoyed reading that! once again, sorry it took me so long to finally gather the courage to post this. i'll post the third chapter in a few days because i like suspense :) . anyway, thanks for reading. if you want, leave kudos and a comment! i'm always glad to hear feedback from you guys.


	3. round 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She really wants to ask him now, but she doesn’t know how to phrase it. “I, uh…” she starts.
> 
> _I want to totally disrespect your right to privacy by asking this super-personal question. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter three! the plot thickens _slightly _in this one. i won't lie, i think that a lot of the reason that i struggled with this story for a while is that i tried too hard to make the mystery such a huge part of the story, with jill almost like a detective piecing together all the facts, but that was exhausting and i found that there had to be a more natural progression to things. so right now, the plot is not totally uncertain in my mind, it's just the enthusiasm i have about writing the story itself that's the problem, i guess. but thanks for putting up with my procrastinating ass. it means a lot. without further ado, enjoy chapter three.__

“Come on, super-cop. Don’t be shy. Take a shot at me.”

Jill is jarringly pulled out of her head by Carlos’s command. She’d been wondering how to broach the topic of his professional career a second time, but she kept coming up empty with the best way to do it. Thus, she spent more time thinking about that than the punches she was throwing and Carlos’s slowly growing agitation.

“Sorry,” she mutters. She takes a moment to observe Carlos, decked out in padding and mitts. He wants her to be able to diversify her targets, instead of always going for the face. _That’s the best-guarded part of the body,_ he’d explained. _Ninety percent of the punches traded in a real fight are to the stomach or ribs._

She goes for two left hooks to his right side, and then a cross to the face. Suddenly Carlos’s padded fist is coming from her left, and she picks up her hand just in time to block it. 

“Good. Now instead of a hook, I’m going to come at you with a jab. You remember what you do with a jab?” 

“Dodge to the side.”

“Good. And when you dodge, hit me with a hook. You’re getting pretty good at that.” Jill is caught off-guard by the praise. Sure, he gives her props when she does anything correctly, but he hasn’t given her unwarranted compliments on her technique too often. 

She decides not to respond to that, simply saying, “Let’s do it.”

Carlos puts up his mitts again, waiting for Jill to come at him. She does the same, takes a deep breath, and repeats her combination from earlier. When the jab comes, Jill sidesteps to the left and finally gets the opportunity to follow through on the punch she’s been forced to hold back from on all of her other attempts.

_Crack._

Jill lets out a huff of glee. “God, that was awesome,” she breathes. “Felt bad-ass.”

“Punching shit’ll have that effect on you,” he says with a grin, but his tone is slightly wistful. If this was their first session and she hadn’t already learned some of his nuances, Jill wouldn’t have picked up on that. But that’s not the case, so she hears the way his voice softens at the words.

She _really_ wants to ask him now, but she doesn’t know how to phrase it. “I, uh…” she starts.

_I want to totally disrespect your right to privacy by asking this super-personal question._

Carlos drops the mitts. “What’s up, super-cop?” 

She’s kind of thankful for the interruption, because she definitely hadn’t grown the courage to ask him yet. “Okay, there are two things wrong with that nickname,” she says, placing her arms akimbo on her hips. “I’m not super. And I’m technically not a cop yet. As nicknames go, it’s pretty far-off.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well… super-cadet doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Heh. No, I guess not.” Jill smiles. Then she realizes she just laughed at one of his stupid jokes, and reddens slightly in the face.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, and just like that Jill has to put her game face back on. 

“It was nothing.” 

“You sure?” She can see that he’s trying to poke a hole in the wall she’s put up. She won’t let him.

“Yup. Can we get back to me clobbering you?”

Claire is over again, and they’re watching _500 Days of Summer,_ “one of the best rom-coms of all time,” according to her.

“God, I can’t get over how fucking cute Joseph is,” Claire gushes at one point.

“Who’s Joseph?” Jill asks, clueless.

“Joseph Gordon-Levitt? The main character?” Claire elaborates, sounding a bit incredulous.

 _Ohhh,_ Jill thinks. Sure, he’s… cute, but… “Not my type,” she dismisses.

“Right, your type has a name, it starts with ‘C’ and ends in ‘arlos,’” the younger girl snarks. She picks up the remote and pauses the movie. “How’s that going, by the way?”

Jill throws her head back in exasperation against the couch. “Can we _not_ talk about this?”

“It’s clear you’re not interested in the movie,” Claire shoots back. “We can at least do something that _you_ like.”

Jill squeezes her eyes shut, instantly feeling like an asshole. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Just press play.”

“No, it’s fine,” Claire says, her tone softening. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

Jill considers lying, brushing it off, like she did earlier with Carlos. But Claire is her best friend. They keep _nothing_ from each other. Maybe that’s why Claire can read her like a book, and Jill can do the same.

“Well, wouldn'tcha know, it’s actually Carlos.”

“Oh?” Claire says, cocking an eyebrow. “Did something… happen?”

“Not really. I mean, it’s… weird.”

“Well, you’ve officially reeled me in, mystery woman,” Claire jokes, turning her body toward Jill on the couch and curling her legs underneath her. “Tell me all about it.”

Jill starts from the beginning: Her asking Carlos whether he boxed professionally, to her looking him up, to her struggling to ask him why he quit again today. She expresses her confusion on the matter, too.

Claire whistles when she finishes. “Sounds like _someone_ got invested,” she jokes.

Jill doesn’t laugh.

“I mean, there’s a lot of possibilities. Physical and emotional trauma are high on the list. And even that is a very broad category.” Claire’s work toward a degree in psychology is starting to show.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” Jill says. “But I have no idea what it could be.”

“Well, you know what’s a surefire way to find out?”

Jill makes the mistake of indulging her. “What?”

“Asking him.”

“God, I can’t just _ask_ him something like that,” Jill breathes. “That would be so invasive.”

Claire smirks. “And looking him up on the internet isn’t?”

“That’s– that’s different,” Jill says, flushing slightly. “That stuff is in the public domain.”

“Right, because you were a faithful follower of Carlos’s boxing career _before_ you knew who he was.” 

Jill sighs. She knows that Claire is right. It wasn’t fair of her to get the one-up on him by looking him up and finding out more than he would have readily told her. So what if she lets her curiosity get the best of her?

But… no. She can’t. There are some things you just don’t ask about. If Claire is right, and it’s some kind of trauma that pulled him away from going pro, then that’s his and his alone to share.

Jill is perusing the baking aisle at her closest supermarket when she hears a familiar voice behind one of the aisle walls:

“No, _vovó_ , they don’t have _pão de queijo._ ”

It is unmistakably Carlos. Of all the supermarkets in Raccoon…

Jill immediately perks up, listening for his voice. 

“I know, _é louco._ But this is America, _vovó._ ”

"Oliveira" is a Brazilian last name; he must be speaking Portuguese. She recognizes some words from her limited Spanish education in high school. The two languages are pretty similar, after all. But who is he with that would force him to mix in his mother tongue?

 _Not your business,_ Jill reminds herself, _same as everything else about Carlos._

Jill distracts herself by walking a bit further down the aisle. Carlos’s voice melts into the other sounds of the supermarket. Good. If she can’t hear him, she won’t think about him. It’s a child’s understanding of hide and seek – _if I can’t see them, they can’t see me._

She makes her way around the aisle, turning a corner to the frozen goods section. She goes immediately for the ice cream. Rocky Road has been her favorite since childhood. She will gladly pick a fight with anyone who shits on it, especially with her new boxing chops. Thanks to the man a few aisles over.

“Jill?” 

“Gah!” She yelps, dropping the pint she had just pulled out of the freezer. She clutches her heart, glancing down at the fallen ice cream, then looks back up.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; it’s Carlos looking at her curiously and with a hint of concern. At his side is a short, yet sturdy woman wearing glasses and a curled eyebrow. She looks very grandmotherly.

“ _Quem é?_ ” The woman asks, looking up at Carlos.

He tears his gaze from Jill to look down at her. _“Esta é_ Jill, _uma das minhas... alunas._ ” He speaks it just as naturally as he does English, his gravelly voice adding personality to the words. Jill listens raptly, though she feels a bit left out.

“Ahhh,” the woman hums. She turns back to Jill, just as she returns to her full height after picking up the ice cream carton from the ground.

“Hello,” Jill greets, feeling microscopic under this woman’s gaze.

“ _Sua namorada?_ ” His grandmother asks Carlos. 

He laughs, although tensely. “No, _vovó._ ” He turns back to Jill, shooting her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about my grandmother. Her English just isn’t very good.”

Jill laughs shyly. “That’s all right.” Their eyes meet, and she clears her throat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Very fancy,” he jokes. Jill laughs again. “Yeah, I’m just helping my grandmother shop. She likes the company. What about you?”

“The same.” She racks her mind for something, _anything_ else to say to fill the silence. Her interest has been piqued by the circumstances: Does he live with his grandmother, and is that why he’s helping her shop? Or is he a kind of mama’s boy?

She’s always thought of that phrase – _mama’s boy_ – as meant to be an insult. If you love your mother, then let her know. Jill has only had the pleasure of talking to her parents over the phone, and just periodically, since she left her hometown to pursue an education in Raccoon City.

“Well,” Carlos says, crossing his arms over his chest. Jill returns her attention to him. “I’ll see you at our next session, super-cop.”

“You got it, Rocky.” The nickname slips from her lips before she can stop it (her mind was on Rocky Road, Carlos is a boxer, Rocky is the most recognized boxing movie of all time) and when it does, he regards her curiously and with a bit of a smirk, as if seeing something he hadn’t before. “Bye,” she quickly says to escape his gaze, pushing her cart around him and down the aisle. His eyes burn holes into the back of her neck as she walks away. 

“ _Muito bonita,_ ” Jill hears the grandmother say to Carlos. She knows enough to know what that means. He doesn’t respond.

Jill’s mind is racing. Aside from thinking about the way he peered at her through his shaggy hair turned her insides to mush, she’s putting a few things together in her head. 

He must live with his grandmother. It’s the one explanation for that encounter that makes the most sense. 

_So what happened to his parents?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here are translations for the Brazilian Portuguese words used in this chapter :)  
> Vovó = grandmother  
> Pão de queijo = cheesy bread (a very tasty snack!)  
> "é louco" = "It's crazy"  
> "Quem é?" = "Who is this?"  
> "Esta é Jill, uma das minhas... alunas." = "This is Jill, one of my... students."  
> "Sua namorada?" = "Your girlfriend?"  
> "Muito bonita." = "Very pretty."  
> just wanted to clear up any confusion that you guys had!
> 
> i hope y'all enjoyed this update! i've succeeded in writing two more chapters after this one, but beyond that it's honestly kind of a toss up. i'll see what i can do in the coming weeks now that school is winding down for me, but for the time being this is still a very incomplete work. thanks for reading! leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! next chapter coming soon.


	4. round 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jill feels… nervous about this lesson, for some reason. It might have something to do with the way she absolutely made a fool of herself in front of Carlos, and even his grandmother, at the supermarket._
> 
> _It also might have something to do with her slow unraveling of the mystery that he is. That same encounter at the supermarket had connected some of the dots for her, but it wasn’t the full picture. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i have weird feelings about this chapter. in a lot of ways, it's filler. the problem is that it's a bit too long to be included as a scene in another chapter. however, not too much happens in it. i don't know. i just know that the scene has to exist and it can't really be formatted better with the way i wrote it. but, uh, enjoy this, i guess.

Jill feels… nervous about this lesson, for some reason. It might have something to do with the way she absolutely made a fool of herself in front of Carlos, and even his  _ grandmother _ , at the supermarket.

It also might have something to do with her slow unraveling of the mystery that he is. That same encounter at the supermarket had connected some of the dots for her, but it wasn’t the full picture. 

A few times, Jill had thought,  _ What if I’m digging too deep? He’s just a guy. _

But if there’s one thing Jill loves, it’s mystery. That was (and still is) her favorite book genre since childhood. She spent many a night reading Nancy Drew, Hercule Poirot, and Sherlock Holmes, so she’s used to piecing things together as time rolls slowly on.

When she enters the gym, she doesn’t see Carlos anywhere. He’s not punching the sand out of a hanging bag, or sparring, or even chugging water like there’s no tomorrow.

She returns to Mikhail to ask him about it.

“He took the day off,” he explains. “Personal reasons. But he told me to say that he regrets not being here for you.”

Worry settles in her stomach, as well as a pang of disappointment. And a hint of anger. He promised her she’d see him at their next lesson. She wants to be mad, but Mikhail isn’t deserving.

She sighs, shouldering her equipment bag. “That’s too bad. Guess I’ll see you next week.” She starts to turn around, heading toward the door.

“Ah-ah-ah, you are not getting away so easily, Miss Jill.” 

She stops in her tracks, and a flush takes over her cheeks as she turns back to look at Mikhail. She feels like a child who’s getting reprimanded, something she hadn’t experienced since high school.

“You will get your money’s worth,” Mikhail continues, with a familiar glint in his eye. “I have another trainer who is willing to take you on for the day, if you are comfortable, of course.”

Jill weighs the options in her head. She had been pretty ready to box today, but “with Carlos” had always been the implication in her mind, because she’s gotten used to interacting with him. Being able to crack jokes before, during, and after lessons is a nice touch. And there’s also the faint rush she gets when he tilts his head and looks at her nice and deep, like he’s wondering how to say something. 

She does have a lot of pent-up energy after a grueling week of classes and coursework, though. Who cares if it’s not Carlos?

“All right, fine,” she responds. Mikhail’s smile grows, and then he turns away from her to find the trainer.

“Tyrell!” He calls, and a tall black man with a friendly face stops jump-roping at the sound. He makes quick work of coiling the rope around his palm and setting it down on the ground next to him before walking up to her and Mikhail.

“What’s goin’ on, Mick?” Tyrell asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Is that just a thing that boxers do? Or is it a general male quirk? Jill ponders these things sometimes, especially since Carlos likes to do it so much.

Mikhael gestures to her while still looking at Tyrell. “This is Jill, Carlos’s student. The one I told you about.”

Jill feels her cheeks flush again. It’s weird, being gestured to and looked at like an exhibit in a museum. But instead of blatantly ogling her when Mikhael says her name, Tyrell fixes her with a calm stare in the eyes. It roots her to the spot, but not in the way that Carlos would, because he has a joking demeanor about him. Tyrell, on the other hand, looks to be about as business-like as a boxer can get. 

“Nice to meet you, Jill,” he says, reaching out a hand. She shakes it, and is not completely surprised by the strength of his grip.

“Likewise.” 

Tyrell nods. “Let’s get started,” he says, already turning around and waving her along over his shoulder. She is quick to follow. He kind of reminds her of Chris, who’s usually a commanding presence and likes to take charge in whatever field exercises the cadets do at the academy.

When he directs them toward a bag, Jill sets hers down nearby, pulling her gloves out. She sees Tyrell grab a pair of mitts out of the corner of her eye. 

She stands up and starts slipping her gloves on just as Tyrell gets done with the mitts. “You’ve had a few lessons with Carlos, right?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Jill says, finally tightening the Velcro strap on her second glove. “He’s taught me the basics, pretty much.”

“Good, good. Well, I don’t know if I want to teach you something new, and mess up the progress you’re making with Carlos…”

“Why not?” Jill challenges. Tyrell looks a bit taken aback at first, but his surprise quickly settles into a pleased grin. “I could surprise him next week. Maybe even knock him on his ass.”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” Tyrell jokes. “All right, why not. But let’s start simple.”

They do a few combos with the mitts, and Tyrell nods appreciatively at her technique. That makes her grin proudly.

“All right,” Tyrell says after he’s content with their warm-up. “So I’m going to teach you how to uppercut. And trust me, it’s nowhere near as dramatic as you think. You can’t send someone flying with just a punch.”

He shows her the form. It’s similar to a body shot, with the windup as you step in and then the follow-through, but instead of going straight for the core, Jill has to treat her shoulder as a fulcrum for her upward-heading fist. When she gets used to the motion, Tyrell makes her do a few more combos, mixing in a jab, cross, and uppercut all in one. 

It’s a great workout, better than any of the ones Carlos has given her. Tyrell definitely takes boxing seriously, but he doesn’t seem like the type to go pro. In the coaching role, he looks like, acts like, and talks like a natural. Jill respects that. She’s had her fair share of shitty authority figures, but Tyrell is a good mix of bossy, funny, and friendly. 

It’s because of this that at the end of their session, as they’re packing up their gear, Jill doesn’t feel too awkward when she asks, “Do you know why Carlos is out today?”

He pauses in his movements at the question, before zipping up his bag with all of his equipment in it. “It’s not really my business to say, you know.”

Jill scrunches her eyes shut, knowing that if she pushes, she’ll come off as mildly obsessed. But even though she’d been distracted by boxing for a while, she couldn’t shake the question from her mind.

“Yeah, but I’m… worried about him, I guess. Doesn’t seem like him to do something like that out of the blue.”

“He’s your boxing coach, Jill. I wouldn’t say you know each other too well yet.”

Jill hangs her head in slight shame. “I know. Whatever. Forget I asked, I guess.”

When she looks at Tyrell again, though, he’s grinning. “Nah, it’s fine. I see you two.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jill is quick to say. Tyrell just continues to grin at her.

“That’s cute,” he says. Jill glowers at him. “I guess I can say, though, today’s always a rough day for him. Gets him down in the dumps. He likes to be alone when he’s in a bad mood.”

Huh.  _ Today’s always a rough day for him. _

“Thanks, Tyrell,” she says. “Was a good lesson today. And thanks for telling me.”

“Any time, Jill,” he says, smiling.

She leaves the gym with even more questions than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, i'm sorry for the filler-ness of this chapter. what i will ask you guys is, would you rather i just uploaded the next chapter immediately to make up for the near-lack of plot in this one? your opinions are valued and i respect them no matter what they are! comment to let me know.


	5. round 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She breathes a sigh of relief when their allotted time is up, taking care to store her gun properly regardless of her clouded mind._
> 
> _“You all right, Jill?” Someone asks once she’s stored her pistol. She turns to see who spoke._
> 
> _Leon Kennedy is looking at her with mild concern, arms crossed over his chest. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the promised additional chapter due to my (apparently irrational) fears that the previous one was filler and boring! it's a bit longer than usual, but i'm thinking that that serves this chapter well. a lot happens in it. (our boy leon makes an appearance!! lowkey my favorite character in the whole series.) have fun with this one! i certainly did.

One of Jill’s favorite things about the academy is the shooting range. The gun in her hand always feels like an extension of herself, completely natural to use. In the words of her supervisor, Wesker, she’s a total crack shot. She’s one of the best shooters in her class, in fact. She finds the whole point-and-shoot routine to be both therapeutic and exhilarating. But today, her mind is elsewhere i.e. on Carlos. (She’d gone over Tyrell’s words in her head too many times to count in the days since her lesson with him. What could he have meant? _Today’s always a rough day for him._ She’d checked the date on her phone. May 13th. No significant holidays, except for something on a Fijian island. Her mind is blank of possibilities.)

Today, she’s hitting the bullseye, but nowhere near as often as she usually does. At one point, she completely misses the outline of the body, landing a shot in the white nothingness that is beyond the lines. She visibly cringes, waiting for the inevitable reprimand.

Wesker’s voice is normally cool and collected, but when he speaks it comes out more as a bark than a scathing, chilling rebuke: “The hell happened to you, Valentine? Bad date last night?”

Someone to the side of her chuckles, but Jill burns with shame. She wants to tell Wesker to “Fuck off,” but this is a man’s world. He’d probably brush her off and ask her “Why so feisty today” or something equally as awful. That is, if he wouldn’t take it to heart. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t like any sort of challenges to his authority. So she says nothing. Instead, she tries to focus on the gun again, but she’s still not as accurate as usual. 

She breathes a sigh of relief when their allotted time is up, taking care to store her gun properly regardless of her clouded mind.

“You all right, Jill?” Someone asks once she’s stored her pistol. She turns to see who spoke.

Leon Kennedy is looking at her with mild concern, arms crossed over his chest. He’s leaner than Carlos, or Chris — looking a bit more dorky than them when he strikes the pose — but undeniably strong. He apparently was a karate whiz when he was a kid and hasn’t lost his touch. Watching him in the academy’s ring is always pretty entertaining. 

“Yeah, just been having a rough day, I guess,” she says, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible. Leon seems to accept this answer, if only for a moment.

“You sure?” He asks, catching up to her as she begins to walk out of the weapons locker. 

“Want me to go lie down on a couch for you, Doctor Kennedy?” She quips drily. Leon huffs, having the decency to look a bit embarrassed.

“Sorry. I guess Ada’s rubbing off on me. She likes to practice her counseling voice on me sometimes.” As he says her name, he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, sporting a faint blush. Jill tries to hide her smile.

“Ah, she’s a counselor, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

They continue to walk down the hall in silence. It’s companionable, unlike the awkward silence she often experiences with Chris. A bit too forward, that one. “So, look,” Leon says. “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s weird not seeing you hit the bullseye on every single shot. Must be _something_ bothering you.”

Her resolve cracks at his obvious concern. Where her blue eyes are usually cold and off-putting, his are warm and inviting, and his boyish face makes him a little bit easier to trust. 

“It’s something with a guy,” she admits, hating Wesker for being right. Leon doesn’t point this out, though. He only nods understandingly.

“Uh-huh.”

He seems content with her answer. Under any other circumstances, Jill would probably leave it at that, but she hasn’t talked to anyone about Carlos in a while, not even Claire (she remembers the way the younger girl’s shoulders had sagged with disappointment the last time she brought him up). She could really use some sort of advice right now, no matter how awkward it might be to ask Leon.

“What do you do when Ada doesn’t tell you the truth?” She blurts.

Leon looks like he didn’t expect her to say that. “Uhh…” he says, laughing nervously. He tucks another tuft of hair behind his ear. “Well,” he says, regaining his focus, “Ada’s a pretty secretive person in the first place, so if she doesn’t want to tell me something, I usually leave her be.”

Jill can’t relate. She’s always wanted to know what makes people tick, and liked to adopt the constant inquisitiveness of sleuths like the ones in the books she loved as a kid. “But what if you want to know what it is? What if you can tell that it’s... bothering her?” She asks, only having the presence of mind to feel guilt when she stops talking and Leon’s flush intensifies. He’s clearly not used to being put on the spot like this, even though he’s a model cadet who’s constantly lauded by their superiors.

“Well…” he says again. “I usually try to ease her into it, you know? But that’s kind of like playing red-light-green-light. So when that doesn’t work, I try to be direct as possible. You know, I tell her something like, ‘I don’t want to annoy you, but I can tell you’re bothered, so if it would make you feel better, I’m here to listen.’”

Jill cocks her head to the side, smiling faintly. “So basically what you just pulled on me?”

Leon fixes her with his gaze and a bit of a teasing grin. His eyes glint in a rare bout of confidence. In that moment, she sees what’s so appealing about Leon Scott Kennedy (but only his mama calls him that).

“It worked, didn’t it?” He asks.

He’s got a point.

When Jill enters the gym, Mikhail makes eye contact with her almost instantly, a smile overtaking his features. She mirrors it, waving.

“Carlos!” Mikhail shouts, without breaking eye contact. Jill flushes slightly, and Mikhail shoots her a finger gun. His whole attitude today is very fatherly. He’s even in a funky little Hawaiian shirt, which he wears over a tank top. She can tell, even through the shirts, that he used to be muscular. Over the years, though, he’s gathered a bit of a gut.

But Jill doesn’t dwell on him for too long. Instead, her eyes shoot to the corner of the gym from which Carlos is emerging. At the sight of him, something within her settles, like a sandbag being released from a hot air balloon. For a moment, she almost forgets completely that she was angry at him last week. Almost.

He looks the same as he did two weeks ago. Maybe there are some hints of bags under his eyes, but he’s still smiling as he comes over and claps Mikhail on the shoulder.

“I missed you last week,” Jill says before she can stop herself. Fiery embarrassment overtakes her and she wants to shrink into herself, but it seems like Carlos is just as bothered by the sentiment:

“Ach, Carlos, must you grip so hard?” Mikhail swears aggressively in Russian and swats Carlos’s hand away.

“Sorry, Mick,” Carlos says, lifting his hand to the back of his head and scratching. Jill is still a little bit too flustered to laugh at him. “Come on, Jill. Let’s get started.”

“Okay, Carlos,” she says, winking at Mikhail as she passes his desk. He returns it.

She follows Carlos to the punching bag and gears up alongside him. “Heard Tyrell took my spot last week,” he says as he shoves his hands into the mitts. “How was he?”

“Good,” Jill says, strapping her gloves closed. “Taught me a new trick.”

“Oh, yeah?” Carlos asks, grinning as they stand up together. “What’s that?”

“The uppercut,” she says casually, liking the way the word sounds on her tongue. Carlos looks surprised, his eyes widening, but he settles back into his signature coolness rather quickly.

“That bastard,” he says, smiling. “Always trying to undermine me.”

“You and Tyrell are close?” 

“Yeah. I met him in—” He pauses, as if realizing a mistake he’s made. “I knew him before the gym,” he amends, but he still looks uneasy about the whole thing. Her curiosity has been sufficiently piqued. She so badly wants to tell him to _finish that sentence._ But she doesn’t want to play “red-light-green-light” like Leon said, so, reluctantly, she leaves it be.

“Come on, super-cop,” Carlos says. “Show me what you learned.” He puts up his mitts, and Jill does exactly that.

They have a nice workout. He’s able to push her a little bit harder because of her new knowledge, mixing up combos and intermittently slapping her in the face with a mitt whenever she drops her hands. She huffs in irritation each time, but it’s more at herself than him. Eventually, she’s able to get into a rhythm and doesn’t mess up for the rest of the lesson, channeling her irritation toward Carlos, because he lied. Carlos points out her increased fervor, sounding almost amazed: “Damn, Jill. What happened to you?”

“I’m feeling energetic today,” she says coolly. She fixes him with a stare, and he frowns, clearly not understanding. She sighs and says, “Come on. Let’s keep going.”

His frown becomes a smile. “Time's up, super-cop. You worked your ass off today, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks,” she says, pushing a strand of hair that’s escaped her ponytail behind her ear. She watches Carlos out of the corner of her eye as she does it, and he’s watching her closely, following the motion of her hand across her cheekbone with his eyes. She wants to grin, but she bites her lip to hide it.

She feels a rush of motivation to do something about these funny little feelings she has for Carlos. These looks, the ones that he gives her, make her wonder what it would be like to be looked at like that every day. The mushiness of such a thought is not like her, but that must be a sign of something she’s not quite used to. Something soft and guarded. Something she really hasn’t felt since she was a teenager. (Claire would die if she found out Jill asked a guy out, too. That’ll be a delight to watch.)

Her mind’s made up. “Carlos,” she says, returning her gaze to him.

“What’s up, super-cop?” He asks, crossing those God-damned arms over his chest again. She wants to sigh.

“Why did you lie to me about seeing me last week?” 

Well, that’s definitely not the question she meant to ask. Maybe there are two halves of her mind, one of them still a little ticked about his disappearance, and the other, softened by his return.

“What?” His arms seem to tighten around his frame. She might as well commit to this line of questioning.

“At the supermarket. You said, ‘I’ll see you at our next session.’ Then you weren’t there.” She only realizes just now how surprising (and _petty_ ) it is that she’s calling back an event from two weeks ago, almost like she thinks about that day enough to remember it that vividly. She holds back a flush by taking a deep breath.

“Oh,” he says, scratching at the back of his head again. “Yeah. Didn’t mean to lie, that’s for sure.” He looks off to the side as he drops his hand. “Something came up.”

“Uh-huh,” she can’t help but say, cocking a hip. He looks sufficiently embarrassed, though. “Well, I have an idea for how we can make up lost time, Rocky.”

Carlos’s attention snaps back to her almost instantly. “Make it… up?” He asks haltingly. 

“Uh-huh,” she says again, smiling wryly. “There’s this bar that just opened nearby.”

His arms loosen their grip on each other and he leans forward, closer to her, as he asks, “What about it?” He looks allured to her in a way no man has ever been before. 

“I was planning on giving it a review.” Jill leans forward to mirror Carlos, and wow, they are impossibly close. Close as in, she can smell him. And he smells good, like pine.

“Okay?” Carlos says, drawing out the “o.” He looks like he’s slowly starting to put the pieces of her puzzle together, but utterly clueless at the same time. Ach. Men.

“And I could use a second opinion so that I’m not too biased.” She considers winking to try and drive the point home, but she really hopes that it isn’t necessary after she laid it all out for him to pick apart. It’s at this point that Carlos finally grins, evidently picking up what she’s putting down.

“Are you asking me on a date, Jill?”

“Heh,” she huffs. “Nice work, Sherlock.” She punches his arm playfully. At the touch, she feels herself flush furiously, but when she meets Carlos’s eyes, she sees that he’s not any better off than she is. And he’s still grinning in that rakish way, the expression strong enough to make her swallow and lose the playful edge she’d carried throughout the verbal adventure she’d just put him through. “Yes,” she finally says. “A date.”

“Jill,” he says, his soft brown eyes twinkling. “I would love to be your second opinion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how'd y'all like that one? i'm sure you're all glad jill finally made a move. i have one more chapter written up after this, but there's definitely more to come. i'm just as much on the edge of my seat as you guys are, tbh. figuring out a plot for the endgame of this fic feels like mental gymnastics, lol. i know what i want to happen, but i don't know how to execute it. i'll figure it out, though, like always. thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, leave kudos and/or a comment! i love hearing what you guys think. until the next!


	6. round 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’s pulled out of her trance by the ringing of her doorbell. Her eyes widen with realization, and she shoves her phone back in her pocket. She remembers her keys on the kitchen counter, grabbing them. She runs her hands through her hair one last time, and rushes to the door._
> 
> _She swings the creaky door open, revealing Carlos. He looks up from the floor at the sound, and their eyes meet. His eyes light up in a subtle way, as he clasps his hands together in an almost nervous manner and says, “Hey.” ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's date night ;) this chapter is about twice as long as a normal chapter, if not longer. if that puts you off, my bad, but in my *humble* opinion, i think it's worth the read. have fun with it! i sure did.

“Claaaaire,” Jill croons into her phone as she leaves the gym. “I have news.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Claire says, “ _ Uh-oh. _ ”

Jill’s elation is dampened by the remark. “What do you mean,  _ uh-oh? _ I didn’t say good or bad.”

“ _ Whenever you say you have news, it’s usually bad. _ ”

Jill huffs in irritation. “Well, it’s not bad. Give a girl a chance.”

“ _ Okay. Lay it on me. _ ”

“I asked Carlos on a date.” She spits the words out quickly, feeling a taste of the nerves she’d just experienced a minute ago as she looked into Carlos’s eyes and saw the teasing happiness within them.

“ _ Finally, _ ” Claire says with mock-exasperation. Jill is about to argue before she continues, “ _ I’m happy for you, Jill! Where and when?” _

Jill stops at a crosswalk where there’s a red palm in the light. As cars whiz by, she says, “That new bar that opened up on Broadway. ‘The Lean-To,’ I think it’s called. Supposed to be artsy or something.”

“ _ Nice, nice. Did you get his number? _ ”

The red hand becomes a green man in mid-step. Jill begins crossing the street. “Yeah. I’m thinking tomorrow. I texted him that.”

“ _ All right, Jill. Tell me how it goes. I wanna know every last detail. _ ” Jill can hear the playfulness in Claire’s tone, but she knows that she’s also most likely 60 percent serious, if not more. 

“Okay. Love you.”

“ _ Love you too, hon. Call me. _ ”

Jill hangs up the phone, grinning to herself as she stuffs it in her pocket and continues down the sidewalk.

She has a date.

It  _ has _ been a while since Jill had a date, though. What with all of the studying she had to do in college to prepare for the academy, she didn’t have much time to “live a little,” as her roommate Ingrid liked to say. And, to be frank, Jill liked not having to worry about men too much. They were complicated, and they required effort. Effort that Jill didn’t want to put in, because she liked working herself into the ground more than she liked figuring out the nuances of the various men that her friends always tried to set her up with.

And then, along came Carlos. At first, he had reminded her a bit too much of Chris, who always left a bad taste in her mouth, what with his overt flirting and just-a-little-overboard touching. But it seemed that after that little incident at the first lesson, he figured something out, and though he still looks at her like he wants to be closer, he keeps a respectable distance.

That’s what truly drew her to him in the first place: his learned respect of her boundaries, while still applying enough pressure to make Jill constantly second-guess herself. The mystery behind him is an added flavor to their interactions, too. He talks as if doing so around a secret that takes shape as a lump in his throat. She wants to know more. She wants to learn why this man, this imposing, rugged, alluring man, avoids talking about his past like the plague.

But first and foremost, they’re going on a date tonight, and Jill is excited, God damn it. She has pondered different combinations of outfits for the last half hour, already having showered and currently rifling through her closet wearing nothing more than a bra and underwear. Taking a break, Jill looks back at her bed. A pile of clothes sits atop it, staring right back at her as if mocking her for her indecision. She glowers at it and then sighs in defeat. It shouldn’t be this hard. It’s not like they’re going to the ball or some nonsense. It’s just that all of her clothes are too casual for an occasion like this one. 

Jill walks up to the bed and picks up her phone, checking the time. 6:43 p.m., the clock reads. She needs to get ready, and quick. Carlos had said in his latest text that he’d be at her door by 7:00. 

Jill throws up her hands in frustration and starts picking up clothes at random. A white undershirt. A blue henley tank top. A pair of black jeans.

Jill pauses after she sets the clothes aside. “Hmm,” she says aloud. Not bad for a spur-of-the-moment search. 

She starts to pull the clothes on with measured haste, wondering if Carlos pulled out as many hairs as she did while picking his outfit. Probably not. Jill can only hope that he didn’t go too overboard.

Jill enters her bathroom, making sure one last time that her hair is fine, her makeup (what little there is of it) isn’t smudged, and that she’s mentally prepared to meet Carlos at the door when he inevitably arrives. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, and points a finger accusingly at it. “Don’t fuck this up,” she mumbles at herself, watching her own lips move and eyebrows furrow. Satisfied, she exits the bathroom, and wonders what shoes she should wear. Heels would probably be the most fitting for this scenario, but she despises them. Sneakers seem a bit uncouth.

Jill eyes the combat boots that she so loves to wear. In any situation, they help to make her feel confident, and even give her an inch or two (though that means next to nothing if it’s Carlos that she’s going to spend the next couple of hours with). She decides to put them on, taking care with the coarse laces and pulling them tight. She likes the feeling of them secured around her ankles, rather than the constant fear she feels of slipping out of a stiletto and eating pavement. 

Now that she has the boots on, Jill checks the time again. 6:47. She groans in irritation. If there is one thing that she isn’t, it’s patient. She finishes her exams early, she finishes the obstacle courses at the academy early, she finishes everything early. She hates waiting for things. Needless to say, she tries to avoid the DMV as much as possible.

Jill stuffs her phone in her pocket, standing up and exiting her bedroom. She heads for her dining table and leans against it. She takes her phone out again, checks the time again. Still 6:47. Fuck. Who does she get mad at? Herself, for getting ready too early and quickly? Carlos, for taking too long (while not taking long at all because they agreed on 7:00)? Or time itself, for marching along so slowly and making her suffer through the hell that is anticipation?

She decides on a mixture of the former and the latter. Carlos is completely blameless; she’s only overthinking. 

Jill opens Instagram on her phone and scrolls through her feed mindlessly, double tapping on a few select posts. She smiles absently as she watches a pair of kittens fight over a toy, with the sound of laughing behind the camera. She’s a sucker for kittens, but don’t tell anyone that. She’d get along well with a cat, she knows. Cats are independent creatures, able to find their own ways to entertain and busy themselves, something Jill can relate to. 

A picture of Chris in nothing but swim trunks follows the cat video, at which Jill sighs. He’s wearing sunglasses and smiling, with his broad, hairy chest fully on display. The caption? “Beach vibes.” It must have been from before the academy. Why he’s posting months-old photos, Jill doesn’t know, but she also kind of does.  _ For the ladies, _ as he liked to put it.

Jill loses herself in the rabbit hole of her Instagram feed before she even realizes it. She’s pulled out of her trance by the ringing of her doorbell. Her eyes widen with realization, and she shoves her phone back in her pocket. She remembers her keys on the kitchen counter, grabbing them. She runs her hands through her hair one last time, and rushes to the door.

She swings the creaky door open, revealing Carlos. He looks up from the floor at the sound, and their eyes meet. His eyes light up in a subtle way, as he clasps his hands together in an almost nervous manner and says, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Jill breathes, her grip tightening on the edge of her door. “Uh, how’re you?” Inwardly, she curses herself for getting so flustered. She chuckles and shakes her head, taking a second to sweep over Carlos’s clothes. He’s in a pair of Timberlands, blue jeans, and a simple gray t-shirt that accommodates for his large form. Her eyes skate over the muscles of his arms, which dance as if they know they’re being watched. 

Jill looks up at Carlos again, blushing madly. God damn it. He’s grinning devilishly, and she can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m fine,” Carlos says. “You ready?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s go.” 

Jill steps out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. She twists her key into the lock, and turns back to Carlos. The grin is now little more than a smirk, but his eyes still hold that knowing glint. She wants to hate him for it.

“You have a nice Saturday?” He asks as they start to make their way down the hall.

“Yeah. Lazy day. Spent most of it binging Netflix and stuffing my face.” 

“Hm,” Carlos huffs. “Sounds like the dream.” 

“What? You don’t do the same?”

“Not really,” he says. “I have a second job on the weekends. Doesn’t allow too much time for leisure.” The way he says it is casual, but that’s exactly what makes Jill regret sounding so flippant about it. She dishes, he takes. 

“What do you do on the weekends?” She asks, trying to keep the flow going. 

At that, Carlos smiles again. “I teach little kids how to make pottery, if you can believe it.”

That surprises a laugh out of her. “Really?” She asks between giggles. 

He takes it in stride, smiling as he presses the down button for the elevator. “Yeah. The kids seem to like me, too, which is a bonus.”

Jill tries to imagine Carlos, with his rough hands, taking the care to shape a vase, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates. Further, she tries to imagine him telling a group of little kids how to do what he’s doing, with a soft voice and kind eyes. It sounds so alien when she thinks about the man beside her, who used to trade punches for a living.

“I find it hard to believe you,” she says, but she bites her lip to keep from smiling  _ too  _ wide.

“I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong sometime, then,” he says, shrugging. She doesn’t miss the allusion to a second date, but the jury’s still out on that. “What about you? You got a side hustle besides the academy?”

“No,” Jill says. The elevator door dings open and she steps inside, Carlos following behind. “They actually pay you to attend, can you believe that?” 

“Seriously?” He says somewhat incredulously. “Sign me up!”

She looks up at him through her lashes, smiling wryly. “You willing to put yourself through hundreds of hours of training?”

He deflates at that. “I changed my mind,” he says. “Definitely wouldn’t wanna be you.”

Jill laughs again. The elevator starts to descend, and silence falls over them. She takes her first deep breath since Carlos arrived at her door. It’s been maybe two minutes, and she’s already ridiculously nervous. It’s so unlike her, making her feel as if she’s watching another version of herself bumble around a cool-headed Carlos. It’s true that he looks mostly unbothered, taking a moment to tousle his hair with a large hand. She wonders how small he would make her own hand look in his. Hell, he’d probably dwarf it. 

His hand drops to his side, index finger tapping against his thigh, and for a moment Jill considers the possibility of taking it in hers and squeezing gently. She bets that it’s warm, and his grip would be tight.

But then the elevator doors again, and they’re on the ground floor. Jill pushes away the regret at not gathering the courage to make a move.

Carlos gestures with a grandiose outstretched hand for her to exit the elevator first, at which she snorts. “What a gentleman,” she jokes as she steps out. Carlos follows, shaking his head but smiling all the same.

When they step out into the late afternoon, with the sun on its way down, Jill takes another deep breath. Carlos walks up next to her, and nudges her gently. She quickly turns to look back up at him. His eyes glow in the light of the setting sun, and his expression is soft. It disarms her with its honesty.

“You look good, by the way,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I meant to say that earlier.”

Jill feels heat rush to her cheeks for the second time tonight, but she forces herself to hold Carlos’s gaze. “You clean up nice, too, Rocky,” she says, grinning. At the nickname, he huffs. Jill believes she ruined the moment. She looks down at her boots.

“My car’s… in the shop right now,” Carlos says, the pause between his words audible. “So I hope you don’t mind walking a few blocks.”

She looks back up at him, grateful for picking up the slack, but the way he just paused on his words intrigues her greatly. A lie? 

_ No, no, no. Now is not the time to be picking him apart.  _ She may want to know everything about him, but for one night, she can put those inquisitive impulses aside. 

“Well,” Jill says, gesturing to her feet. “These boots were made for walking.”

He flashes his teeth in a cheeky smile, rooting her to the spot with its brilliance. “And that’s just what they’ll do, huh?”

She scoffs to offset her nerves. “Let’s get walkin’, Rocky.”

After completing the walk, Jill and Carlos take a moment to appraise the bar from the outside. The bar’s name is written across the top in italicized typeface, a coy play on the title itself,  _ The Lean-To. _ It’s open-air, with retractable walls on either side to protect from the weather when it gets colder. It’s bustling with activity. People occupy nearly every table, leaving the only seats at the bar. Jill isn’t a fan of calling attention to herself in such a way, but tonight, she’s compromising. 

“What do you think, super-cop? Up to your standards?” Carlos jokes, nudging Jill again. She isn’t quite used to it yet, but she can’t deny that she likes it. She likes the feeling of his hands, the ones that could knock a man out cold, touching her in such a delicate way. 

“Looks nice. I should know, anyway. I picked it out.”

They take seats at the bar, and it takes a minute or so for the barkeep to get around to them. “What can I get you guys?” He asks. 

“Guinness for me,” Jill says. She turns her gaze to Carlos, but he’s already looking at her. A chill runs up her back at the way he observes her.

“What about you, man?” The barkeep asks Carlos, breaking him from his trance. Jill holds back a laugh at the deer-in-headlights look he’s got going on. 

“Oh, I’ll have what she’s having,” he says, leaning forward onto the bar to escape Jill’s eye. She grins widely, thinking,  _ Subtle. _

“Be right with you,” the barkeep says, walking to the other end of the bar to take more orders. Now that they’re alone, Jill takes the chance to toy with him.

“Real slick of you,” she says. Carlos ducks his head, still choosing not to face her. A rush of guilt passes through her at his reaction. She knows she can be rough around the edges, and, truthfully, Carlos is the last person she wants to be that way around. She hesitantly leans over to wrap a hand around his arm.

At that, he looks up, and he’s already smiling faintly. Jill tries not to dwell on the way his bicep tenses in her grip, and fails. God, his arms are as wide as logs. She gulps, trying to find her voice again.

“I’m just kidding around, you know. I think it’s…” She tries to find the right word to describe his antics, and Carlos raises an eyebrow in anticipation. “Cute,” is what comes to mind, though she doesn’t like the word. “How you’re shy and all that.”

“Cute, huh?” He says, his familiar swagger returning. “Women have called me tall, and dark, and handsome. Never heard  _ cute _ before.”

“Gotta do something about that big head of yours,” she quips, squeezing his bicep (because the urge had been eating away at her ever since she touched it) and then letting go.

“I’m sure a beer would help,” he says, running a hand through his perfect hair again. Oh, how she wants to tangle her fingers within it.

“Speaking of beer, I  _ know _ you wouldn’t have ordered a Guinness if you hadn’t been caught ogling me,” she accuses, tilting her head as she does so. “So what’s your drink of choice?”

He stares at her for a moment again, but this time he recovers quicker. “Tequila,” he says, and the way he settles into his accent as his tongue toys with the word is hotter than Jill would ever admit aloud.

“Then let's take some shots next round,” she says. His eyes glimmer in the warm light of the bar at her words. For a moment, she entertains the idea of losing herself in them, allowing herself to be pulled into Carlos’s orbit.

Uh-oh.

Thankfully, whatever shyness Jill had been feeling at first fades after the first few drinks. She’s laughing openly at Carlos’s stories about Mikhail, he’s laughing at her endless pool of stories from the academy. It feels nice to lose herself in conversation with Carlos. Jill thinks that this is exactly what she needed to get her mind off of life’s stresses, and hopes that now she won’t be as distracted as she was that day at the firing range.

Carlos chuckles at something she’s said, and she loses her train of thought. It’s for the best. 

“Hey, you wanna get a plate of something?” He asks.

“Like what?” She smiles easily, thanks to the lightheaded feeling that the booze has brought upon her. Carlos looks almost angelic in the light, the fringes of his hair catching it to make it seem as if he’s donning a halo (and he’s damn good looking, is all). “I see loaded nachos,” he says, pointing to somewhere beyond Jill. She dramatically swivels around in the bar-stool, hearing Carlos laugh behind her. 

There’s another couple down the bar sharing a plate of nachos covered in assorted toppings including ground beef, black beans, and melted cheese. Jill’s mouth waters at the sight, and she spins back around to Carlos to express her enthusiasm. “That looks  _ great, _ ” she breathes. “Order some. Now.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” he says, effecting a booming royal tone. Drunk Jill finds that to be far funnier than Sober Jill ever would, laughing loudly. Her hand somehow finds his shoulder, and she leans into him, squeezing it as her laughter dies.

“Stop making me laugh, or I’ll throw up,” Jill says breathlessly. She lifts her head to look at Carlos, and he’s giving her that same look he did when they were ordering their first round of drinks: the one full of unbridled awe.

As his lips slowly start to form into another grin, all Jill can think is,  _ Good Lord. _

With what looks like great effort, Carlos tears his eyes from hers. “Bartender?” He calls. Jill hears a sound of assent, but doesn’t bother to look away from the man in front of her. “Can we get some loaded nachos?”

Thankfully, Jill’s prediction about the nachos was right: they’re damn amazing. Usually, bar food is less than desirable, but there’s something about these nachos that makes her want to ask the bartender what the recipe is. It’s not like she’d ever get around to making her own, anyway. She’s too busy. 

She agreed with Carlos that this one would be their last round, so they made a toast to nachos before downing the final shot. After that, Carlos told her that he needed a moment in the bathroom and then he’d walk her home (“if that’s alright with you, of course.”)

She told him alright, and now here she is, smiling absently to herself as she waits for him to come back out. She’s decently drunk. Not quite swaying-on-your-feet drunk, but more like loose-tongue drunk. It’s up to her to decide whether that ends well or poorly.

“Excuse me?” Someone asks, and it sounds so far away, but something tells Jill that the speaker is a bit too close for comfort.

She turns ninety degrees in her stool and comes face to face with a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with cascading black hair wearing a black dress and a pout. “Yes?” Jill replies, leaning back against the bar because suddenly, she wants to lie down.

“That guy you’re with, that’s Carlos Oliveira, right?” She pronounces his last name  _ Olive-era, _ while Carlos had pronounced it  _ Oh-live-ay-ra  _ when he was giving her his contact information. Something about that doesn’t sit right with Jill.

“Possibly,” she replies, feeling herself smile at the look of irritation that flashes on the woman’s face.

“Yeah, well,” the woman sneers. “Thought you should know that he’s bad news. Only cares about himself.” In her eyes is a hint of pain that hasn’t quite been let go of yet. 

“I know better than to listen to a jealous ex,” Jill hears slip from her own tongue. If she were sober she would have covered her mouth with shame and apologized for speaking so brazenly, but something about this woman sets her off in the worst way possible.

The woman’s face contorts in anger and she says, a bit louder than necessary, “What did you just say to me, bitch?”

“No need to yell, missy,” Jill says calmly, still smiling faintly, though her adrenaline is starting to spike.

“I’ll fuck you up,” the woman snarls, taking a step toward Jill. Quickly, Jill slides off of the stool, standing to her full height. She has to grip the end of the stool for balance at first, but she’s pleased to see that she has quite a few inches on this angry little woman. In response, the girl takes a cautionary step back, surprised by the change in perspective.

“Say that again, shorty—”

“Hey! Jill!” Carlos’s voice floats into her ears, and she tears her gaze away from Little Miss Punchy. He looks a bit frazzled, probably having rushed from the bathroom at the sound of the shouting. “Can’t leave you alone, can I?” Some of the familiar ease returns to his voice.

“Nice to see you again, Carlos,” Punchy says, having crossed her arms and started tapping her foot against the floor aggressively. 

“Carmela,” Carlos says. Ah, she has a  _ name. _ “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to give your new piece a warning,” Carmela says, looking like she’s trying real hard to sound like she doesn’t care. (Jill bristles at being called a “piece.” She tells herself it’s only because this girl is wildly insecure about something.) “About you,” Carmela tacks on after a moment of hesitation.

“Carmela, I’m not in the right state of mind to have any kind of conversation with you right now,” Carlos says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Have a good night,” he says, suddenly reaching for Jill’s hand and pulling her away quicker than she can compute what’s going on.

“Whoa, Carlos, slow down, okay?” She says as he starts to drag her out of the bar. He doesn’t seem to hear her, for he continues full-speed toward the open air, leaving Carmela to stew.

When they’re back out on the sidewalk, Jill nearly stumbles into him as he turns around, stopping quickly in his tracks. He catches her by her biceps before she can faceplant into his broad chest.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding out of breath. “I just didn’t want to deal with that.”

Jill takes a moment to look at him, frenzied eyes and all. She decides not to ask any questions. “That’s all right,” she says, lifting their joined hands up between their faces and squeezing his hand gently. “Let’s get going.”

Carlos nods his agreement, and they start on their way down the street.

They stay silent for most of the way to Jill’s apartment. Jill is wondering how to ask him about Carmela, and the way she had confronted him, but struggling with it because three shots of tequila and a Guinness are still sloshing around in her liver and impairing her critical thinking skills. 

Oh, and they haven’t let go of each other’s hands yet. She figures that the gesture probably brings Carlos some form of comfort, since the situation that had just occurred a few minutes ago clearly put him on edge. 

Also, she’s able to answer her question from earlier, about how the sizes of their hands would compare to each other. Indeed, his hand is huge in hers, and warm, and rough. Her fingertips tingle with the perpetual touch of their palms and fingers curled around each other.

It’s nice. And it’s hard to imagine that Carlos could have been doing something similar to this with that aggressive girl back at the bar, however long ago they had been a thing.

Jill wants to give herself an ice cold slap to the face for getting remotely jealous over a guy, on a first date no less.  _ First date in years _ , her mind helpfully amends. She’s simply out of touch. Even so, it’s not like her to feel that way. She’s always been independent. Never depended on a man in her life aside from her father, but even he wasn’t the easiest to connect with.

Jill recognizes her own corner. “You didn’t need to walk me home,” she mumbles as she tries to keep pace with Carlos, even as their hands remain wrapped around each other. 

“I didn’t want to abandon you on the street,” he says, looking back at her with a grin. “Woulda felt awful about it.”

His tone is softer now that they’re in their own little bubble as they walk down the sidewalk. Jill wants to draw closer, but she can hear him just fine and wouldn’t be able to use that as an excuse. “I can handle myself,” she says, puffing her chest out proudly. She doesn’t realize what she’s done until his gaze falls to her chest and lingers on it a beat too long to be normal.

She’ll cut him some slack. They’re both drunk, and they’ve had a long night. 

Jill un-puffs her chest meekly. It’s interesting to think that throughout all this, they  _ still _ haven’t let go of each other’s hands. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Carlos says. “You’re a fighter now, right?” He’s teasing, but Jill decides to play along.

“Oh, yeah,” she says confidently. “A bona-fide pugilist.”

“We’ll have to get you in the ring someday,” Carlos muses. At those words, Jill remembers the outside world for a fleeting moment, and she sobers up slightly. 

“I’ll kick your ass,” she says, keeping the light tone.

“Fat chance, super-cop.”

They’re at the front door of her apartment before she knows it. 

“Want me to walk you up?” Carlos says, smiling faintly.

“I’m fine,” Jill says quickly. She knows that with the state they’re in, something would most definitely happen and she doesn’t quite know if she would regret it in the morning. 

Carlos deflates slightly, but his smile stays on his face. “Well, good night, Jill,” he says, finally starting to extricate his hand from her grip. She doesn’t want to let go just yet, though.

Jill stands up on her tiptoes and quickly kisses him on the cheek. Her lips tingle with the feeling of his scruff, but she decides she likes the sensation.

She falls back onto her heels and watches Carlos process, biting back a laugh at the mildly dumbfounded look he’s got going on. Then, his eyes light up, and his smile grows to a grin.

“Can I count on a second date?” She says, feeling shy. Her gaze falls to his collarbone that’s peeking out under his shirt. She has to resist the urge to run the pad of her thumb along it. 

She’s pulled from this urge when he catches her jaw between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look back up at him. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says, and did he speak with an extra-gravelly voice on purpose or is that just the last vestiges of the alcohol coursing through her veins?

“So, yes?” She says, with her jaw still cradled between his fingers. She feels very vulnerable, with his hands on her in such a compromising way. But he’s also handling her with such care that nobody could possibly expect from him.

“Yes, Jill,” he laughs. “I’ll see you at the gym, okay?”

“You got it, Rocky,” she says, glad she got the last word. He lets go of her face and her hand, offering a two-finger salute as he starts heading down the street again. 

She watches him walk away until he turns a corner, sporting flushed cheeks and an aggressively beating heart. 

So, yeah. She’s kind of fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do y'all smell that? the increase in detail? yeah, me too. i think that at first i was trying to be more subtle with my approach to the au, with few details and kind of centered around the gym, but that would have been detrimental to the story. but i also think that i was inspired by the way i wrote this chapter to add more detail to the following chapter as well. working on chapter 7 right now, and it's definitely longer than usual. if you enjoyed this, leave kudos and a comment! your feedback and kind words always bring a smile to my face. thanks for reading! until the next!


	7. round 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A thought strikes Jill: It’s selfish of her to be dissecting every little thing that Carlos says and does like she’s a damned doctor trying to figure out a diagnosis. He’s a living, breathing human being and he probably wouldn’t take kindly to being treated as anything otherwise by Jill, even indirectly._
> 
> _She risks a sip of her tea then, and immediately draws away when it scalds her tongue. Still too hot. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good afternoon fellas! this chapter is nearly 5k words. since yall had no problem with the length last chapter, rejoice! (or something.) fun stuff in this one. more boxing, more feelings. have a ball.

Jill awakes with a killer headache. It definitely isn’t the worst she’s ever had, but it’s enough to make her groan when she opens her eyes to the blinding sunlight shining through her window.

She vaguely remembers drunkenly pouring herself a glass of water and leaving a bottle of painkillers on her bedside table. She turns her head to find it and, sure enough, there it is. (Drunk Jill is smarter than Sober Jill gives her credit for.) She twists open the bottle and drops two pills into her hand, grabbing the glass of water afterward. She hastily gulps down the pills with a generous helping of water, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid sliding down her throat. 

For a moment, she considers going back to sleep, but realizes she wouldn’t be able to with this damn headache. Why did she let herself drink so much last night? Why didn’t Carlos try to stop her?

Jill remembers that he drank just as much as she did, and is probably feeling the same aftereffects that she is. She considers shooting him a text, something like _how’s the hangover treatin’ ya._

Good things are best taken in small doses, though, so she decides to call Claire instead, remembering that she’d promised to tell her “every last detail.”

Claire picks up after three and a half rings. “ _Good morning, sunshine,_ ” she says cheerfully. “ _I was waiting for you to call me._ ”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Jill mutters, covering her eyes with her hands and nearly hissing in pain when she looks into the sun again.

“ _Clearly not,_ ” Claire says, her tone very tongue-in-cheek. “ _I live vicariously through your exploits._ ”

“You’re using words too big for a Sunday morning,” Jill complains. “ _Vicariously._ ”

Claire laughs openly. “ _Hangover’s that bad, huh?_ ” 

“Shut up,” Jill says. “The date went well.”

“ _Ooh, tell me more,_ ” Claire says, her tone sing-song and toeing the line between annoying and charming.

It’s going to be a long morning.

As Jill boils water for a cup of ginger tea, she leans against her kitchen counter, thinking about last night. At first, she remembers the good parts: The laughing, the smiling, the looks they shared, the kiss she pressed against his jaw. The thoughts are enough to bring a flush to her cheeks, and a warm feeling in her belly. She saw the way his eyes softened every time they made eye contact. She heard the softness in his voice when he spoke and she was able to hear him perfectly despite the loud conversations happening between other patrons and the jukebox playing in the background.

Jill had been enraptured by Carlos even more than she had been when she was throwing punches at him in the gym. She’d like to let herself fall, but a leftover instinct tells her not to let him get too close. Was it a mistake to ask for a second date?

The kettle begins to whistle. Jill pops off of the counter, tabling her thoughts, and twists the dial for the burner back to “off.” She reaches up to the cabinet above the stove, pulling it open and taking a mug from the bottom shelf. 

Ginger tea is Jill’s favorite hangover cure, truly the only one that hadn’t disgusted her when she went looking for them on the internet after her very first night of heavy drinking. Some of those had been nightmare fuel. She doesn’t like to think of someone chugging a glass of eggs like Rocky did and then taking a cold shower. Speaking of Rocky…

Dammit, she can’t go thirty seconds without thinking of Carlos. She sighs at herself as she pours the water into her mug, dipping the teabag in as well, mixing them together with a spoon. Anyone else would welcome the thoughts of someone that they like invading their mind at the most random moments, but Jill prides herself on her ability to stay focused. It’s what helps keep her position at the top of her class at the academy.

Best to let the tea sit for a few minutes as it cools. Jill sighs again, resigning herself to thoughts of Carlos. Now that she’s got the flusteredness out of the way, her mind travels to the other interesting parts of the night, namely his hesitations, and especially Carmela. 

_My car’s… in the shop right now._ So he doesn’t have a car. That’s not such an outlandish thing to lie about. She tries to think of his other obvious lies.

_“Didn’t mean to lie, that’s for sure. Something came up.” “I knew Tyrell… before the gym.”_

She just _knows_ there’s something going on that’s deeper than what Carlos has told her. She considers the fact that she saw him shopping with his grandmother, too, but it doesn’t clear anything up.

A thought strikes Jill: It’s selfish of her to be dissecting every little thing that Carlos says and does like she’s a damned doctor trying to figure out a diagnosis. He’s a living, breathing human being and he probably wouldn’t take kindly to being treated as anything otherwise by Jill, even indirectly.

She risks a sip of her tea then, and immediately draws away when it scalds her tongue. Still too hot.

As she walks down the street toward the boxing gym, Jill gets a text.

**Rocky:**

_You on your way over, super-cop? ;)_

Jill rolls her eyes affectionately as she reads the notification. She and Carlos have been texting on-and-off for the past few days, and it’s been… nice. Their conversations usually span few topics: work, funny stories, stupid little puns and pick-up lines (but those are all from Carlos’s end). The way he texts is endearing, making a point of using his nickname for her at any possible opportunity and a generous helping of winky and smiley faces. 

**Jill:**

_Yes._

She’s not nearly as outwardly enthusiastic as he is as a texter, because she prefers phone calls or in-person interaction, but she’s willing to indulge him if that’s the way he likes to communicate.

She’s a block away from the boxing gym now, and she can tell because of the coffee shop that she likes to visit after sessions with Carlos. An idea pops into her head: maybe they could grab a cup together after.

Jill shakes away the thought. She knows that she’d feel odd if they went out to dinner near the academy, and maybe Carlos feels the same. Either way, he’s still got work after they finish up. Maybe she should schedule a session for the last slot sometime so that her idea could come to fruition; a post-boxing date sounds nice. Sure, they’d be sweaty and red-faced, but there’s something weirdly intimate about that (it’s because it would look like they just did it, she realizes. Maybe that isn’t a viable option, after all).

She pushes open the door to the gym, and this time all she needs to offer Mikhail is a wave and a “How’s it going” as acknowledgment of his presence before he points to Carlos’s corner. Jill nods and shoulders her bag as she makes her way over to him.

When Jill approaches, the first thing she hears is the pounding of fists against a punching bag. She peers around the row of bags and sees Carlos, sweaty and focused, not unlike the way he was when she saw him for the first time. 

She sees a familiar look in his eye, at first unable to place it. Then she remembers the video of Carlos’s boxing match. It’s that look of untempered aggression that he had directed toward his opponent before walloping him. Surprised, Jill stops in her tracks, watching him continue to punch and circle the bag as if facing a real fighter. She doesn’t even realize that he’s stopped until he says, “Jill?”

She snaps out of her daze, blinking a few times to refocus. She can’t believe she just got caught checking him out. 

“Yeah,” she says, a bit louder than necessary. “Hey.” As a smile forms on his face she flushes and can’t help but smile back, feeling a trace of the nerves that were prevalent all throughout their date.

“Hey, super-cop,” Carlos says, walking up to her and leaning against the bag directly in front of her. He peers at her through his blanket of shaggy hair, chest heaving slightly from the exertion he’d just put himself through. “Liked what you saw?”

“Your head is as big as ever,” she says, shaking her head. “Come on.” She drops her bag to the floor, unzipping it and gathering her equipment. “You promised sparring today.”

“That I did,” he says, pushing himself off the bag he had just used as a backstop. “Had to bring you back here somehow.” He pairs that sentence with a grin. Jill ducks her head so that she doesn’t get too bothered by it.

“Don’t need to worry about me coming back for you, Rocky,” she says, eyes still fixated on the ground. “Let’s do this,” she says quickly, resting a hand on his shoulder and making her way toward the ring.

Jill can sense that, for a second, Carlos doesn’t move from his spot and his eyes are trained on her back as she saunters away. The realization helps her lift her head up high again and smile impishly.

The ring is elevated a few feet off the ground, to the height of Jill’s hips. And it’s also a lot bigger than it looks on TV. She uses the ropes to heave herself up, and as she pulls open a gap between them, she feels like a boxer getting ready to fight a real opponent in the opposite corner. The feeling gives her a rush of adrenaline.

“Hey,” a voice calls from below. Jill’s head swivels downward. Carlos looks up at her with a teasing smile. “No bags in the ring.” He reaches out with one of his huge hands, and Jill flushes a little bit as she slings her bag off of her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess I just got excited.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Carlos asks as he finds a spot for Jill’s bag on the floor. He hops up onto the elevated platform of the ring with a great deal more grace than she used, snaking between the ropes as well in one fluid motion. It reminds her of the video again. He still looks like such a natural in the ring, even when doing something as simple as entering it.

“Yeah,” she says, slipping her gloves on as Carlos slips on his mitts. Their practices always start with the mitts; the sparring part that got Jill excited will come later.

“Let me see some, super-cop,” he says, putting up the mitts. She can’t help but smile for a split second before schooling her expression and nerves with a deep breath.

Jill starts off with a few simple jabs and crosses, her fists exploding in speed from their positions in front of her face and making a satisfying _crack_ against the mitts. She’s proud to say that she’s starting to get used to the sound which, according to Carlos, is a sign of improvement.

“Show me the uppercut,” he says, and Jill focuses on throwing a few jabs before swinging her fist methodically forward and upward into Carlos’s awaiting mitt. 

It may just be the blood pumping in her ears, but she swears she hears a muffled _boom_ when she makes contact with the mitt.

“Shit, you’re looking _good_ today, Jill,” he says, easing his hands back down to his sides, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I think you’re ready to spar.”

Her heart absolutely soars at the words of encouragement. A more uninhibited part of her wants to squeal in excitement and wrap her arms around Carlos’s neck and maybe, just maybe, plant a kiss on his lips.

But this is Mikhail’s gym, and she doesn’t want to desecrate the place with such public displays of affection. And, also, it’s simply unlike her.

“Sounds good,” is all she says in response. Carlos nods, still looking at her with that familiar awe, and then turns to make his way through the ropes and back down to the floor. Jill follows suit.

“Okay, so, to spar, we need to get you headgear,” Carlos explains as Jill follows him toward a corner of the gym with an equipment rack. “And some real gloves. Those gloves you got are good for practice, but we’re trying to simulate the feeling of a real boxing match, just without the head injuries. Ya know?”

Jill nods, smiling faintly. There’s something sneakily attractive about seeing Carlos talk so passionately about this, all gesticulating hands and rushed words. “Got it,” she says as confirmation.

“Right,” Carlos says. “And also, don’t push yourself too hard. A sparring partner isn’t going to try to knock you on your ass, so you shouldn’t do the same.”

“Are you going to be my sparring partner?” Jill says, making her tone as unassuming as possible. Carlos stops in his tracks, though, and looks at her long and hard for a moment.

“I don’t know how I feel about hitting you, Jill,” he says, his voice suddenly more solemn. “It’s…” he trails off.

“What?” She asks, confused, but she tries to mask it with an air of confidence and a challenging brow. “Don’t think I can handle a Carlos Oliveira punch?”

“I…” he tries. He takes a deep breath, and leans in close as if he’s about to share a secret. She mirrors him. “Are you _sure?_ ” He asks, looking genuinely fearful.

Jill assesses him for a moment. It could be chivalry that’s holding him back from sparring with her. She doesn’t want him to be scared; as a matter of fact, it’s a little bit insulting to her pride that he’s so reluctant. She knows that she can handle herself in a fight at this point, and she doesn’t want him to be afraid of hurting her.

There’s a look in his eye, though, as his gaze darts around, occasionally meeting hers but constantly flicking left, right, up, down. It gives Jill pause. She may not want to feel insulted, but she least of all wants to make Carlos uncomfortable. 

“No, you’re… you’re right,” she says hesitantly, hoping her voice grows more confident as she continues. “I don’t want to push you.”

Carlos breathes a heavy sigh, standing back up to his full height. She wonders if he’s actually standing taller or if that’s just her imagination. “Okay, good,” he says. “Because I was gonna suggest Tyrell. He knows how to… take it easier on people.”

Jill frowns. _What does he mean?_

“Well,” he says, looking a bit frantic, as if he wants to escape what he just said. “I’m going to go ask T if he’s ready. You go pick out a pair of gloves and a helmet, okay?”

 _Take it easier on people…_ Jill wonders again as Carlos stalks off toward Tyrell, who’s in the distance going at it with a hanging bag. _Some kind of anger or restraint issue?_

She watches Carlos call for Tyrell, who catches the bag mid-sway. While they talk, Carlos stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Tyrell nods. He pats Carlos on the shoulder and says something that makes Carlos raise his hand between them, asking for a shake. Tyrell meets it with his own, and holds it there for a moment before letting go.

Jill turns around, remembering what Carlos asked her to do just moments ago. She walks up to the rack, surveying the various pieces of equipment. There are sparring helmets in either red or black, and boxing gloves in the same colors. Jill picks out a black set. She’s never been a fan of bright, angry colors. 

Though she’s making a valiant effort to busy herself with adjusting the gloves and finding the right-sized helmet, she can’t help but think about Carlos’s words again. It’s another piece of the puzzle to consider. Her excitement about sparring all but dissipates until she hears a voice over her shoulder.

“Little bird told me you wanted to spar.” There’s a teasing edge to the voice, and Jill knows before she turns around that it’s Tyrell. When she turns to look at him, he’s sporting a grin.

“Little bird is right,” she says, smiling. “Good to see you again, Tyrell.”

“Yeah, I’m a delight,” he jokes, making Jill chuckle as he joins her in front of the rack. “Carlos says you’re getting pretty good.”

Jill looks at Carlos as he says that. She spots him leaned against the bag Tyrell had just been practicing on, hair hiding his face as he looks down at his feet, posture almost meek.

“Yeah, all thanks to him,” she says, returning her gaze to Tyrell, who’s leaning down for a pair of red gloves.

“You hop on the Carlos train yet?” He asks, and his tone is strained as he shifts his focus to a red helmet. 

“That’s nun ya,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. Tyrell laughs as he stands back up, the gear cradled between his chest and forearms.

“Fair enough. Be careful with him, though.”

Jill tilts her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Tyrell’s brows are furrowed as he considers how to reply, if at all, but he eventually relents. “Guy’s been through a lot. I just don’t want to see him get hurt again.”

A quick burst of irritation nearly spears Jill’s calm facade in that instant. _Why can’t I just have one concrete piece of knowledge about this guy?_

She feels her face heat up in momentary anger, but she holds herself back from saying something she’ll regret later. She lets out a deep breath to try and calm herself down. “I don’t plan on breaking his heart,” she says, and nothing else. It’s a bit bold of her to say, and the words make her flush slightly, so she tries to deflect. “Now, seriously. Let’s get started. Anticipation has been _killing_ me for the last twenty minutes.”

“All right, princess,” Tyrell says, chuckling. “Let’s get situated.”

Jill and Tyrell are finally back in the ring, with their gear on. She doesn’t like the feeling of the helmet; it’s a bit claustrophobic. The edges of her vision are a bit blocked by the way it’s styled, but she knows she can’t take it off. A bundle of nerves has settled in her stomach, but Carlos told her that that’s normal. Presently he stands beside the ring, leaning against it and propping his head up on his forearms to watch from below.

“Don’t kill ‘im, super-cop,” Jill hears him say from behind her, with a hint of laughter in his voice. She’s glad to know that he’s less tense.

“Imagine that I’m giving you the finger right now, C,” Tyrell says as he fixes the placement of his helmet. “Because that was out of pocket.”

“Those gloves make you look like a lobster, T. I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.” Jill barks a laugh before she can stifle it. She flushes, but neither Carlos nor Tyrell says anything about it.

“Let’s just get started, man,” Tyrell says. “I promise I won’t go too hard, okay?” He continues, his tone back to fully serious.

“Okay,” Jill agrees, getting into position, hips squared, fists properly defending her face. Tyrell mirrors her, looking a bit more confident in his stance than she knows she does.

“Ding-ding-ding,” Carlos calls, imitating the timekeeper’s bell.

She’s shy at first, circling Tyrell as he mirrors her for the first few seconds. Then he tells her not to be scared, and she takes a deep breath, nodding. She steps in closer to him, preparing to throw a jab.

Jill offers Tyrell her first punch, and any fear she’d been feeling quickly dissipates when he blocks and responds with a shot of his own, which she sidesteps.

After they get into a good rhythm of trading punches, she thinks she hears Carlos shout that there’s a minute left in the round, but she’s more focused on trying to break Tyrell’s guard. He’s diligent about keeping it up, even though he’s obviously holding back. Normally, Jill would take offense, but she’s not trying to kill him, so he isn’t trying to kill her. At one point, she makes sweet contact with Tyrell’s jaw when she throws a right cross. His head jolts back as she follows through, and Carlos whoops with excitement. “Get his ass, Jill!”

Tyrell simply grunts and goes back at it, as if her best efforts had little effect on him at all. It’s a bit demoralizing, the fact that he’s able to take what she delivers and ping-pong it back to her with greater force. She doesn’t take it too deeply to heart, though.

“Time’s up,” Carlos says after two minutes. Jill sighs in relief, feeling exhausted from the effort, and a bit winded after a well-aimed body shot that Tyrell had caught her lacking with. She turns toward Carlos, walking over to the corner where he’s posted and squatting so that their eyes are level. Carlos looks at her with a proud grin and says, “I’ve taught you well.”

“No doubt,” she replies, laying a gloved hand on his shoulder. She kind of wants to kiss him again, then remembers the dorky sparring helmet. “Can we do another round?” Hopefulness rises in her chest as Carlos looks off to the side, pondering. 

“T,” he suddenly calls to the other man, leaning to the side and subsequently making Jill’s hand slip off of his shoulder. “Jill wants to go for another round. You down?”

Tyrell kicks off the ropes where he’d been leaning and adjusts his helmet. “Sure,” he says, untying and re-tying the drawstrings of his shorts. “I’ll get you back for that cross, Jill. Watch.”

“You already got me good in the stomach,” she points out, rising back to her full height and turning away from Carlos. “But sure. Whatever gives you peace of mind.”

She thinks Carlos chuckles, but the sound is faint and honestly not worth investigation.

They go for another round, and it goes a little bit better than the first because Jill feels a bit more confident about punching Tyrell and not feeling bad about it. This time, her big accomplishment is a combination of punches; she sends a body shot with her left into his core, and then as he hunches slightly, a cross to his face. It leaves Tyrell reeling a little bit, and that’s where her adrenaline cuts off. She keeps her fists up as she watches him rise back to his full height, and feels a mixture of guilt and pride swirl around in her stomach.

The round ends, and Jill rushes to tear off the sparring helmet and gloves. Her haste makes Tyrell chuckle as he goes about removing his own gear with more comfort. “Pick a bigger helmet next time,” he tells her when she looks at him with a weak glare.

She slips through the ropes on Carlos’s side of the ring, and he offers her a hand for leverage as she hops back down onto the ground. When she takes it his touch is grounding but feather-light, and for a second she thinks she easily could have hopped down on her own. 

(She considers the possibility that she might have a thing for hands.)

“That should conclude today’s session,” Carlos tells her as he walks with her back to the equipment rack. “You did real well today.”

As she slots the helmet and gloves onto one of the shelves, Jill turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “So I heard, more than once.” The side of her mouth quirks upward at the way he rolls his eyes and sighs in faked irritation.

A beat passes between them as Jill straightens. She wonders what he’s thinking about, if he’s trying to phrase something in his head. The urge pulls at her to ask him about his earlier comment, about not being able to take it easy on people. She figures, why not? They’re not exactly strangers anymore, and he’d willingly said it to her. It would only be natural to say something about it.

“I—”

“You know—”

They stumble over each other with the beginnings of their sentences. “Oh,” Jill giggles, hanging her head. “You go first.”

“Kinda want you to look at me if I’m gonna say what I’m gonna say,” Carlos says. Dutifully, she brings her gaze back up to him, her cheeks reddening slightly as he looks at her with an expression decidedly more intense than she’s used to. The way his deep, dark eyes search hers makes a pleasant heat pool low in her stomach. She wants to look away, but is enraptured by his gaze. The thought strikes her that they’ve been staring at each other for longer than seems socially acceptable.

“Spit it out, Rocky,” she says, her voice with a subtle but undeniable shakiness to it.

“Right,” he says, and a little bit of the easy humor returns to their mouths in the form of shy smiles. “I was just going to ask…” he begins again, messing with his hair in the way that makes Jill want to do the exact same thing with her own hand, “how do you feel about dinner later this week?” At her silence, which he takes to be awkward hesitation (but is really just her processing what he’s said), he rushes to add, “Nothing fancy. Doesn’t have to be, at least, if you don’t want that.”

She continues to think, and when it looks like he’s about to start word-vomiting again, she holds up a placating hand, chuckling. “That sounds nice. And I don’t mind fancy, but maybe pizza or something is a good place to start.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Carlos says, as if he’s just happy she said yes in any form at all. Jill’s smile widens and so does his. “Pizza’s great. Love pizza.”

“All right, you caveman,” she says, laughing as she pats him affectionately on the shoulder.

“So what were you going to say?” He suddenly asks, placing a hand against the rack and leaning slightly closer. He looks interested, and the smile he wears now makes it seem like he’s trying to coax words from her lips with it. It almost works.

She wets her lips with her tongue, and Carlos watches the motion closely. Should she bring it up, after he seems to have lifted himself into such a good mood? She saw how awkward he’d been after she pushed for a full explanation the first time. Now, that tension is gone from his shoulders, his eyes are twinkling, and his smile is winning in its own way, with the mature subtlety of his tempered emotions.

She decides it’s not worth it. “It was nothing,” she says, rubbing her own hand up her arm as she tries to distract herself. He raises an eyebrow into the canopy of his hair, as if he expects her to go back on her words and explain. She doesn’t give into the pull of that eyebrow, no matter how difficult it feels.

Carlos doesn’t push, thank God. Instead, he nods, and mumbles, “All right,” before taking a small step closer to her. Jill watches him as his hand rises from his side and hovers over her arm. He looks down at her through his lashes, and she looks into his eyes. He sees confirmation in her gaze, and she feels his fingers wrap around her bicep. “I’ll see you soon, super-cop,” he says, smiling faintly as he says the name. The redness in her cheeks returns with a vengeance at their proximity and the hooded eyes he’s teasing her with.

He leans in even closer, and it looks like he’s about to press a kiss to her cheek. She wouldn’t mind that, without a doubt, but a flame of boldness suddenly consumes her. As he dips his head down to the side, she turns to match his angle. Their lips brush against each other for an instant, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity down her spine. Carlos must feel some residual effect of that because he quickly draws away with his eyes wide and pupils blown.

Jill sees the shock in his face, and she meets it with a smirk and an inquisitive eyebrow. They look into each other’s eyes for a beat, their faces mere inches apart.

“Next time I see you there better be a table and a large pie between us,” Jill whispers. 

Reluctantly, she extricates her arm from Carlos’s now-loose grip, and looks at him over her shoulder as she saunters boldly toward the door. His hand hovers dumbly where she left it, and his head swivels slowly to follow her out with his eyes. If Claire were here, she would undoubtedly call that a rom-com moment. 

Jill would be too proud to express her agreement but it would still be true, repeating itself over and over again in a part of her mind that she hasn’t listened to in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope yall enjoyed this addition! i'm feeling like this chapter will be the last one before this story reaches its home stretch. your comments and words of support have been the BEST things to read throughout the course of this fic, i swear. so i don't mean to sound selfish but keep em coming! all of your support means the world to me. thank you for reading! until the next.


	8. round 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jill smiles down at her phone. The way Carlos texts is so him — it’s easy to hear his voice as she absorbs each word he types. It gives her the feeling that they never actually have to say goodbye, because they can just continue whatever conversation they were having when they saw each other last._
> 
> _All Jill can think, as she opens her front door and starts down the hall, are good thoughts. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! this chapter is almost 4k words in length. let me just say, the attention and love you guys have been giving this fic is unreal. it's more than i ever could have imagined or asked for. waking up to your comments is the highlight of my morning. 
> 
> that being said, a lot happens in this one. some good, some bad, some ugly. there's your fair warning.
> 
> (TW for this chapter: mentions of blood and sexual harassment.)

**7:18 p.m.**

**Rocky:**

_What do you like on your pizza_

**Jill:**

_Veggies._

**Rocky:**

_How unfortunate_

_I prefer meatlovers_

**Jill:**

_Ever heard of half-and-half?_

**Rocky:**

_How about a compromise_

**Jill:**

_I’m interested._

**Rocky:**

_Anchovies_

**Jill:**

_I am no longer interested._

**Rocky:**

_Thank God_

_Yeah I was just testing the waters_

**Jill:**

_Totally._

**Rocky:**

_It hurts that you doubt me_

_How about… half-and-half?_

**Jill:**

_I think that sounds like a great idea (because I came up with it)._

**Rocky:**

_La la la… oh what was that? I could have sworn it sounded like a voice_

**Jill:**

_That doesn’t work when we’re texting._

**Rocky:**

_Then I’m blind_

_askdfljaiawuero_

_See_

**Jill:**

_You’re such a dumbass._

**Rocky:**

_What can I say, you turn my brain to mush_

**Jill:**

_Unbelievable._

**Rocky:**

_ <3 _

After reading Carlos’s last two texts, Jill feels blood rush to her face even though she’s sitting in the safety of her own home and lounging on the couch until it’s time to leave for their date. These kinds of feelings would normally be something that she pushes away, at least in the past. _In the past,_ she amends, because recently a lot of things have been changing. She’s back on top of her game at the academy, doing well in her classes, and things feel light and easy with Carlos, which is exactly what she needs.

Her impulses to dive into his past with him still haven’t left her, though. She probably wouldn’t have such difficulty with that if he wasn’t so lock-and-key about it. It’s not all his fault, far from it, in fact; Jill has always been nosy. She liked to keep a trained ear on the girls gossiping in the halls back in high school, and listened to her parents talking from behind her bedroom door. They didn’t even have to be fighting; she simply had a habit of eavesdropping when it was convenient for her to listen.

Such habits would be convenient in a detective’s job. That’s the position she’d like to aim for, once she gets accepted into the force. However, that comes into conflict with Carlos’s character. He’s a unique variable in the otherwise cut-and-dry schedule that her life consists of, forcing her to go back on so many of her previously held beliefs and self-protective measures.

 _It’s a pizza date, for Chrissakes._ Jill chuckles quietly to herself and decides that now is as good a time as any to put some real clothes on and get ready for the evening. She doesn’t feel like she needs to worry as much as she did last time about picking an outfit. This time, when she goes through her closet, she is able to pick out a pair of black leggings and a blue tube top (paired with a strapless bra) easily enough. 

She looks longingly at her combat boots for a second, but decides that they wouldn’t go too well with the rest of the outfit. Funny, how Jill from a few months ago wouldn’t have given a shit about what aspects of an outfit “worked” with others. Like she said, unique variables.

She picks a pair of white sneakers that she doesn’t wear that often. When she looks at herself in the full-length mirror mounted on her wall — twisting this way and that, adjusting the tube top — the look reminds her of the college days, when she would go to someone’s dorm and pregame with them before heading out to a frat party. She took good care of herself at those, stealing beers from the fridge instead of taking drinks proffered by members of the frat.

That was a different time, but the thought of those days is enough to bring a faint smile to Jill’s lips as she finishes looking herself over in the mirror. She had the same figure then as she does now, drawing attention from men and women alike, but it’s something she was never too fond of until Carlos started looking at her the same way. In contrast to the boys who lusted after her as she sauntered through frat house hallways with a confident sway to her hip that they interpreted as _asking for it,_ Carlos is a man who sees that sway and respects it for what Jill uses it as rather than what he thinks it means.

Jill’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she’s pulled away from her thoughts (and the mirror) as she walks out of her room, digging the device out of her pants.

**7:28 p.m.**

**Rocky:**

_I’m on my way over_

**Jill:**

_On your way where? Over._

**Rocky:**

_Cute_

_On my way to the pizza place*_

_...Over_

**Jill:**

_Copy that._

**Rocky:**

_What a weirdo_

**Jill:**

_You literally suggested anchovies on pizza._

**Rocky:**

_As a JOKE, Jill_

_Are you heading out yet_

**Jill:**

_What do you take me for? A procrastinator?_

**Rocky:**

_I bet you don’t even have your shoes on_

**Jill:**

_Attachment: 1 Image_

**Rocky:**

_Scandalous_

**Jill:**

_Don’t be weird. I’m leaving now._

**Rocky:**

_See ya there_

Jill smiles down at her phone. The way Carlos texts is so _him_ — it’s easy to hear his voice as she absorbs each word he types. It gives her the feeling that they never actually have to say goodbye, because they can just continue whatever conversation they were having when they saw each other last.

All Jill can think, as she opens her front door and starts down the hall, are good thoughts.

After a short walk, Jill sees the place Carlos picked out across the street. As Jill waits for the light to change, she takes a second to look up at the sky, craning her neck. Above Raccoon City sits a gloomy curtain of dark grey clouds, the kind that forebode rain. As if on cue, Jill feels a late-spring breeze tickle her shoulders, causing the skin around them to harden with goosebumps.

The light changes and Jill returns her focus to the street, caressing her upper arms with her hands as she crosses. She won’t let a little bit of rain get in the way of an evening with Carlos.

 _Marky’s Pizza,_ the aggressively bright neon sign announces. Through the glass, Jill sees Carlos seated at one of the tables, tapping with his index and middle fingers against it. On this night, he wears a pair of army-green cargo pants, his trusty boots, and a dark blue hoodie. There’s one other seat across from him. 

The place seems cozy, with warm lighting and sparkling tiled floors. When Jill pushes the door open, a bell jangles, and Carlos’s eyes lift from his hands to where she now stands. He smiles near-instantly at the sight of her, making Jill’s face redden slightly. Quickly, she makes her way over to his table, sidling into the other seat, and says quietly, “Hi.”

Reaching over the tabletop, Jill runs a finger over the back of Carlos’s hand. His tenses at the sudden touch, but he doesn’t push it away; in fact, he seems to like the feeling, if the way his breath quietly hitches is any indication. He seems to remember himself, though, and replies, “Hey.”

Jill pointedly scans their surroundings. With her eyes on the menu that hangs above the cashier’s counter, she says, “I like it. You been here before?”

She sees him shrug out of the corner of her eye. “Once. They have personal pies. That’s part of why I picked it.”

Jill smiles faintly. She wonders how hard he had to think to pick this place, and that gives her a warm feeling all over. 

“I already ordered, by the way,” Carlos continues. “Half n’ half. Just like you wanted.” 

Jill can’t really say anything for a moment. Her first impulse is to say _I could have done it myself._ That’s quickly pushed to the side, though, when she realizes that the _last_ thing on his mind was patronizing her.

“Thanks,” she breathes, pushing away the thought. “Imagine what it could have been, though.”

Carlos tilts his head, obviously confused. His hair falls over his face as he does so, but he continues to playfully gaze through the fluff into her eyes. 

“ _Anchovies,_ ” she says with disgust. “I mean, I can’t believe—”

“—You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Carlos asks, laughing to himself. “God, I guess I know what it takes to get on your nerves now. The mention of a disgusting pizza topping.”

“I can’t believe you even _considered_ it,” Jill says, laughing with him. “I don’t like to eat anything that still has a face.”

“That sounds like a decent rule of thumb,” Carlos agrees, running his index finger up and down her wrist. The touch does ridiculous things to her, sending thoughts racing through her mind at a pace too fast for her liking.

Trying not to make it look too obvious, Jill draws her hand away from his and uses it to brush errant locks of hair behind her ear. Nonetheless, she notices a slight dampening of Carlos’s smile. 

“Personal pie, half-meatlovers, half-veggies,” someone calls from behind the counter. Thank God, Jill thinks momentarily, and she starts to stand up, pushing the chair back with the backs of her knees, but Carlos does the same. 

With their knees half-bent, they eye each other over the table. Carlos raises an eyebrow, and Jill raises one right back at him. “My turn,” she says, her tone subtly commanding.

They stare at each other for a second longer, but he must realize that the chef isn’t going to sit around waiting for two bumbling adults to settle their little squabble, because he settles back into his seat and continues to stare.

Jill nods and walks up to the counter. The guy behind it wears an apron that must have been white at some point, aged to the point of it yellowing slightly. On his head is a backwards baseball cap. The yellow fastener of the snapback and the black base hints to Jill that it represents the Raccoon City minor league baseball team, which for some reason is called the Rockets. (It’s something she’s never been able to make sense of.)

Between them sits a sixteen-inch pizza on a platter. Jill sneaks her fingers under it as the cashier looks at her a bit too deeply for her liking. “Thanks,” she says, trying to hide the brusqueness, but it still comes through. She turns away with the platter in hand and walks back to the table she shares with Carlos.

He looks a bit bothered when she sets the pizza down on the table and maneuvers back into her seat. Was he watching her interaction with the pizza guy? Jill wants to scoff at the thought.

“Nice,” he appraises, reaching for a meatlovers slice as she does the same for a veggie one. They both pull a slice out at the same time, watching the cheese stretch out in its final attempts to stick to the greater pie.

They take a bite at the same time, and their eyes are locked while doing it. Something in Carlos’s gaze is playful, yet intense. Jill tries to mirror it, wondering if this is another one of Claire’s rom-com moments.

At that thought, she chuckles, the sound muffled by the bite of pizza in her mouth. Carlos snorts in response, and before they know it they’re losing breath with laughter, leaning over the table with tears threatening to spill from their eyes and the pizza nearly falling out of their mouths. By some miracle, they both regain their composure eventually, swallowing and gaining the opportunity to finish laughing.

“Sorry,” Jill says, shoulders shaking. She must be smiling like a dope the same way Carlos is right now. 

“What even made you laugh?” He replies, his own laugh in its death throes.

“I just thought of something my friend said,” Jill says, yanking a napkin out of its dispenser and wiping at her mouth with it, even though she’s pretty sure it’s clean. 

“Which was?” Carlos asks, as she inspects the napkin. Sure enough, it’s dry. She crumples it up into a ball and sets it down on the table, returning her gaze to him.

“Something about rom-coms,” she says coyly, cradling her chin between two splayed hands as she leans forward toward Carlos.

“Oh?” He prompts, leaning in as well. As he comes closer, Jill inhales deeply through her nose, catching the smell of conditioner. It’s a pleasant smell, the kind that she might bury her nose into if they found themselves under… ahem… _different_ circumstances. That particular thought makes her cheeks gather heat, but she doesn’t dare draw away, because Carlos’s gaze is flicking between her eyes and her lips and she _really_ wants this to happen.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, quiet enough for only the two of them to hear, “oh.” She allows her eyes to fall to Carlos’s grin as their breaths begin to mix.

When their lips meet, Jill can instantly _feel_ that he’s holding back, but admittedly, so is she. One, for the obvious reason, that they’re in the middle of Marky’s Pizza, and there’s the off chance that the chef is still looking at them; two, it feels too good to be true, the way goosebumps are starting to trail up and down her back and arms, heat enveloping her cheeks, forehead, and neck. The two conflicting sensations almost feel like overload. She doesn’t want to ruin it somehow, especially with the way Carlos is kissing her like she could shatter from his touch. 

Before she pulls away, Jill dares to drag his lower lip gently between her teeth. She hears Carlos hold back a groan. She smiles against his lips. Satisfied, she draws back, watching Carlos slowly open his eyes and look at her with a mixture of reverence and surprise.

She picks up her slice of pizza again, as if nothing happened, and starts to eat. There’s still a sly grin warping her lips as she takes her first bite.

Leaning back in their chairs, Jill and Carlos regard each other. One of his hands dances along the edge of the table the way it did when she saw him through the window. She watches it with mild curiosity. They’re content to sit in silence, no matter how odd the scene may seem to the other patrons who order to take out or sit at another table mere feet away. 

Jill knows it’s getting late, though, and the air outside that whooshes in with each opening of the door is starting to smell more and more like rain. 

“You ready to leave?” Carlos asks, like he’s reading her mind. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah,” she says, righting herself in the seat and pushing herself up using the edges of the table. As she stands to her full height, she tugs slightly at her tube top, which successfully scratches the itch that had been bothering a patch of skin under her right shoulder blade.

Carlos stands as well, and he picks up the now-empty pizza platter from the table, walking it back to the counter. “Have a good night,” he tells the chef, who isn’t paying any attention. Jill stifles a laugh with her palm, turning toward the door and pushing it open, waiting for Carlos before she steps outside. When he turns away from the counter with a bemused shake of his head and a quiet scoff, he meets Jill’s eyes again and smiles warmly. Her grip tightens around the door’s bar.

Carlos makes his way around the tables, taking the door from her as he pushes it until it doesn’t move anymore. Jill takes the hint, stepping out into the night and instantly feeling a sprinkle of raindrops against her face as she looks up at the sky again. The clouds make the light of the late hour darker than usual.

She can already feel the water soaking through the fabric of her shirt and the cotton of her leggings. Damn. She should have checked the weather before going out.

“Regretting not bringing a coat, Jill?” Carlos asks, his voice slightly muffled by the rainfall, but she can see his smirk clear as day.

“I can handle a little rain,” she says, shrugging. “Unlike you, cozy in your hoodie and all.”

Tugging at the neckline of the said garment, he asks, “What? Wanna borrow it?”

Jill sighs, unable to help the smile that takes over her features. “I’m good,” she says. Carlos dutifully drops his hands to his sides once more.

They begin to walk down the street, gravitating toward each other but not joining by the hand. “You know,” Jill says, nudging Carlos by the elbow, “That pizza was pretty good. I’m impressed, Carlos.”

“I tend to make good decisions from time to time,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. “Like, one time, Tyrell asked me what color shirt to wear on this date he was gonna go on, and now he’s been with that girl for a year.”

Jill doesn’t want to laugh. Doesn’t _want_ to, but it’s bubbling out of her like it was bound to happen anyway. “Right,” she says with an exhale. “That was definitely the deciding factor.”

“He even came back to the gym the next day and told me so. Apparently, the first thing she said to him was ‘nice shirt.’”

Jill laughs again. “You’re full of shit,” she says, covering her mouth to stop from laughing any further.

“Must have seen _something_ you liked,” he replies, sparing her a glance out of the corner of his eye. 

“Right,” she says again, her smiling lips finally settling back into a straight line.

Silence reigns again between them, but they take no issue with it. That is, until it’s broken by a wolf-whistle. They’re on a big street in the middle of a city with tens of thousands of people, so though Jill tenses at first, she decides to ignore it. Carlos pays no mind. They come upon an intersection, and as they wait for the light to change, Jill feels like something is off. There’s been a near-imperceptible change in the air, but that might just be the goosebumps running up her arms.

They cross, but in the middle of the street someone calls, “Lookin’ good, girl!” 

It’s clear enough that Carlos notices now, turning his head and searching for whoever said it, but Jill encourages him forward with a touch to the back of his bicep. She refuses to search for the owner of the voice herself, because it's usually best not to give assholes like him the time of day. She can’t deny, though, that she had felt that familiar drop in her throat that she always gets when she receives untoward attention. She tries to focus ahead, where an unassuming woman walks, gripping her son’s hand tightly and shielding them both with an umbrella. Jill wishes she had brought an umbrella. Maybe she could stick it up this guy’s ass. She tries to pick up her pace, and Carlos thankfully does the same. 

“Hey, baby, I’m talkin’ to you! Why don’t you say thank you and smile for me?”

Jill’s blood boils, despite the cool rain that slides down her skin, but by some miracle she keeps her gaze ahead. It’s at this remark that Carlos completely stops in his tracks and starts to turn around, but Jill immediately latches onto his arm with a claw-like grip, forcing him to keep walking.

“Don’t say _anything,_ ” she tries to whisper, but he either doesn’t hear her over the rain or chooses not to, because he doesn’t even bother to look at her as she speaks. Worry lines plague his face, and he’s alternating between squeezing his eyes shut and chomping down on his lower lip hard enough to leave the skin surrounding it pale and bloodless. 

“Come on,” the voice suddenly says, closer now than ever before, almost in her ear. “Smile for me, honey.”

At this point, she can't hold back from looking anymore. A man with close-cut salt-and-pepper hair looks back at her, wearing a sleazy grin and hooded brown eyes, looking sinister in contrast to Carlos's own sleepy and enticing gaze. The mans arms are crossed over a blue raincoat and plaid red-and-blue shirt, leaning close as if about to press a kiss to her jaw. His jeans are old and ratty, with some small-but-visible tears circling the knees. Carlos’s head snaps backward and to the side, just as the man's hand closes around Jill’s upper arm. In an instant, his grip is gone, and Carlos is slipping away, out of her own grasp.

“You _motherfucker,”_ Jill hears Carlos growl. She turns around, watching as he frog-marches the man, whose grin is slowly morphing into a look of fear, toward the wall of a brownstone that they had just walked past. He trips over his ratty sneakers as Carlos pushes him along.

“Let go of him, Carlos,” she shouts, just as he throws a right hook. The man’s head rocks backward and bounces off of the wall. Carlos throws another hook with his left, jolting him the other way.

Jill tries to speak again, but her throat has closed up. She rakes her hands through her sopping wet hair, unable to do anything besides watch Carlos go to town on this creep. The sight is nothing short of terrifying. A part of her thanks God that they’ve turned onto a side street with their only prospective observers being the woman and her child, who have gotten too far down the sidewalk to see, or hear, anything. The rest of her wishes she could vaporize into thin air so that she didn’t have to witness this awful scene.

The man starts to sway left and right with the force of Carlos’s punches, the blasts from his fists ironically seeming to be the only thing keeping him upright. “What the _fuck,_ ” Jill grits out under her breath. She knows she can’t stand and watch anymore. Jill strides up to Carlos, trying to grab him by his shoulder. He shakes her off, throwing another punch. “Carlos!” She yells as she stumbles backward, “Stop! Fucking stop!”

Carlos raises his fist one last time, but he chooses not to follow through, simply watching the man crumple to the ground. Jill watches his head loll to the side as he falls into a seated position against the wall of the brownstone. Blood trails from his nose and mouth, flowing freely down his face with the aid of the rain.

Her eyes are glued to Carlos, though, standing there in his soaking clothes, hair matted to his forehead and covering his ears. He’s heaving with breaths, looking down at his now-bruised knuckles with a mixture of shock and disgust. 

Slowly, he looks up at Jill through his messy hair. “Jill,” he says, his voice breaking.

She stares at him with her mouth agape, arms limp at her sides. _Who is this man?_ She wonders. Certainly not the one she was joking around with moments ago. Not the man who kissed her with tenderness, or helped her down from the boxing ring, or ordered loaded nachos at the bar for her. No, Jill feels like she’s looking at a completely different person — who he used to be? — as her socks become waterlogged and her eyes start to burn, both from the rain that’s now pelting down upon them and the rise in emotion that has overtaken all other thoughts that might have crossed her mind.

“Jill,” Carlos says again, “I…”

His gaze is filled with pain, to the point that she nearly submits, nearly does something stupid like run toward him and tackle him in an encompassing embrace, and tell him that he did the right thing. His eyes are no longer cold and focused; no, now they’re spacey and distant, as if he’s looking straight through her.

She can’t. She just can’t. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t deal with this right now." It becomes harder to look him in the eye; she allows her gaze to fall to her feet as she wonders how she can escape. After a deep breath, she chokes out, “I have to go," her words slightly blurred together over the lump in her throat.

Without waiting for a response, Jill turns on her heel and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hate to end a chapter in this way. I know it's awful. We all want to see them happy. (Also, I was scared about that final scene feeling a bit too forced, with the way the tone completely changes. So, please let me know what you thought: Good, bad? Did it fit?) But trust me, we're far from the end here.
> 
> If any of you have seen the movie Whiplash: when I was writing the pizza scene, I got major vibes from the date scene in that movie, where they're sitting across from each other at the deli being all awkward. No? Just me? Okay.
> 
> Also, I don't know how you guys felt about the texting segments. I didn't want to take too much space in the story with those parts, but I thought they served the chapter well. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this story to this point. Your support is always appreciated. Next chapter coming soon.


	9. round 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What do you want to watch?” She asks, and Jill is slightly taken aback. She thought Claire would automatically pick another rom-com, and to be honest, Jill wouldn’t have a problem with it, at least tonight. But the fact that Claire even asked in the first place is enough to make her feel seen._
> 
> _“Kill Bill,” is what slips from her tongue, near-automatically. Claire tears her gaze away from the TV and their eyes meet. A smile creeps up her face._
> 
> _“A woman of class,” Claire appraises proudly, and keys the title into the search bar. She presses play, and they begin to tear into their snacks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i don't know how i feel about this chapter. i'm a lot more proud of the first two scenes than i am of the last one, and this is definitely, undoubtedly filler. i will say that this definitely feels like a much needed interlude for jill, with all of the bullshit that came to a head, but i personally believe that the way i wrote it could be stronger, especially because the ending (in my opinion) feels pretty abrupt. i don't know. i just hope you guys enjoy it.

Jill nearly falls into her apartment when she wrenches open the front door, leaving small puddles on the floor as she tracks water into the kitchen. The door creaks shut loudly as she leans against a counter for balance.

She heaves with breaths, having run the last block or so to her apartment building after the rain had picked up into a torrential downpour while also on the verge of tears. Presently, she can faintly hear the droplets pelting down against her windows in a wall of white noise that calms her somewhat as she regains her bearings.

“Fuck…” she whispers to herself, running her hands through her hair, fingers snagging at a couple of knots that have made their home in it. A single tear rolls down her cheek, surprising her. Quickly, she wipes it away, sniffling. She doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact, even to herself, that Carlos pulled the rug out from under her, leaving her to fall on her ass on the rain-soaked ground.

She needs a hot shower. It’ll warm her up and clear her head so that she can properly process every event that just transpired in the last ten minutes. 

Jill removes her shoes and socks first, setting the shoes down by the door and un-balling the socks that stubbornly stuck to her feet as she tried to peel them off. She carries them with her to the hamper outside her bedroom door and continues down the hall to the bathroom, not even waiting to enter it before tearing off her soaked tube top. God, everything she wears could probably be shoved right in the dryer with the deep wash they just got in the rain.

She eases open the bathroom door with the hand that isn’t occupied with the crumpled tube top, and immediately hangs up the ring of fabric on the hand-towel rack opposite the sink. She makes quick work of the rest of her clothes, giving them the same treatment.

Her own nude reflection in the mirror catches her eye: the slopes of her breasts, the tight muscles in her wiry arms, the vague outlines of abdominal muscles over her core. The man’s words from earlier enter her mind unbidden, and she averts her gaze from the mirror just as quickly as she directed it there, reflexively wrapping her arms around her chest as her eyes fall to the floor.

It takes longer than she’d like to admit to gather the willpower to enter the shower and twist the knob to the hottest setting. The water comes out ice-cold at first, though, making her yelp in surprise and step away from the shower head as she waits for it to warm up. 

_ God, _ she thinks.  _ I need this now. _ Once the water heats up, she can finally focus on the seemingly millions of thoughts bouncing off the walls of her mind and screaming different messages that she can’t begin to decipher with a murky head. That process starts with a deep breath. Jill takes a few to try and settle herself again, her shoulders sliding up and down the wall as she leans against it for support.

The water that splashes at her feet feels warmer, so she leans back into the streams spouting from the shower head and revels in the newfound heat. Her previously ice-cold skin begins to absorb it, and she tilts her head back, her mouth falling open slightly and eyes blinking slowly closed as she relaxes.

_ Jill, _ she suddenly hears, in Carlos’s broken voice. Her eyes shoot open once more and she tries to rid herself of the thought because when she thinks of Carlos now, all she can see is him beating that man into submission, over and over again.

“Fuck,” she says again, her head falling forward once more before she settles into her routine, teasing the knots out of her hair and cleaning herself of any mud or dirt she stepped into on her sprint back to her apartment.

She still isn’t ready to do this yet.

When her phone rings a few minutes after leaving the shower, Jill nearly slaps herself in the face for not thinking of doing this sooner.  _ This  _ being talking to Claire and telling her everything that’s happened with Carlos since the last time they talked.

Jill reaches for her phone that’s discarded on her bed, still covered by nothing more than her bath towel, water dripping down her legs as she sits on the edge of her bed. She presses the green  _ accept call _ button.

“Hey, Claire,” Jill says, sounding more tired than she means to, as she brings the phone to her ear.

_ “Hey yourself, stranger,”  _ Claire replies.  _ “Been a minute. You doing alright?” _

Jill can’t help herself; she laughs gently.

_ “What?”  _ Claire asks.  _ “I’m serious, Jill. You alright?” _

“That’s a difficult question to answer,” Jill admits. “Look, I miss you, Claire. Can you come over?”

_ “The lengths I go to for you, walking through the pouring rain just to be your emotional support sponge,”  _ Claire intones, but Jill knows she’s joking. The tone is familiar.  _ “I can be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t die before then.” _

Jill laughs again. “Don’t count on it.”

_ “See you soon. Love you.” _

“Yeah,” Jill sighs. “Love you too.”

Three crisp knocks come to her door twenty minutes later. Jill gets up from the couch, feeling a thousand years old with the exhaustion plaguing her bones as she walks to the front of her apartment. She swings the door open and in the opening stands Claire, clad in a vibrant red raincoat, black jeans, and tall black rain boots.

“How was your first day at school, honey?” Jill asks as she leans against the doorframe, smiling faintly.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Claire drones as she pushes past Jill’s shoulder into the apartment. She makes quick work of discarding her jacket, hanging it on one of the hooks next to the door. She pulls at the bun atop her head, fixing her hair into a ponytail instead. Jill straightens and walks into the kitchen again, leaning back against the counter in a more relaxed way than last time. 

“So what was so urgent that it needed Mama Claire’s special attention?” Claire asks, sticking her tongue into the inside of her cheek to hide an obvious laugh at her outrageous statement as she joins Jill at the counter.

“You’re literally younger than me, Claire.”

“By nine months! We could be Irish twins,” Claire insists. 

“Okay,” Jill finally says, blowing air out of the side of her mouth, because it’s time to get serious. “Before I say anything else, I just want you to know, I’m sorry for just dumping all of my shit on you lately, okay? It means a lot that you’re here to listen even if I won’t stop using you as an ‘emotional support sponge.’” She puts air quotes around that last phrase.

Claire smiles reassuringly and says, “I know, Jill. Believe me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that.” She places a hand atop Jill’s, squeezing gently around it as she looks into her eyes. “Now stop being sentimental and spill the fucking beans.”

“All right, all right,” Jill says, laughing and drawing her hand out of Claire’s grip. Her eyes follow her own hand as it plays with the drawstring of the sweatpants she has on, flicking the ends up only for them to land between her fingers again. “I know I sound like a broken record—”

“—Carlos again?” Claire interrupts. “I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but it sounds like this guy is causing you a bit more emotional turmoil than anybody ever should. Have you considered—”

Jill cuts her off this time. “Just listen, Claire,” she implores. “I need you in sponge mode.” A part of her can’t believe she  _ actually  _ just said that. She presses on anyway. “We were just on a date, okay? And it was going well. I kissed him.”

“Oh,” Claire says, her eyes filling with mischief. Jill fixes her with a  _ look.  _ “Go on,” she adds.

“So after that, we left, and things were still going well,” Jill continues. “Until some asshole started catcalling me.”

She waits for another interjection from Claire, but nothing comes. Instead, the other woman simply raises an eyebrow, clearly anticipating what would come next rather than getting hung up on every detail.

“And I was able to keep walking, but Carlos kept turning around. Eventually, the guy got super close and he grabbed my arm. And Carlos…” she takes a deep breath, a trace of the emotion from earlier returning to her mind, her body reacting accordingly by forming the beginnings of another lump in her throat, “Carlos didn’t like that. So he grabbed him and started… beating the shit out of him.”

Claire starts to say something, and then reconsiders. “I was going to say  _ that’s awesome, _ but something tells me you’re not as enthusiastic?” Her tone hints upward at the end of her sentence in a question.

“No,” Jill admits. “I guess it’s one of those things you  _ want  _ to see until it actually happens. Like yelling at someone who did you wrong and then feeling really bad about it because you never raise your voice.”

Claire hums in understanding. “I get that,” she agrees. 

“So, yeah,” Jill finalizes. “It was kind of scary. I had been getting this sense, pretty much since I met him, that there was something he wouldn’t tell me. And I think that maybe, that was part of it.”

“Part of what?” Claire asks.

“Part of…” Jill struggles for the best possible wording, “his past, that he didn’t want me to see.”

“Hmm,” Claire hums, hoisting herself onto the kitchen counter with both hands. Jill looks up at her as she contemplates. “What did you do?” She asks. Jill doesn’t quite understand, and that must show on her face, because she elaborates, “After?”

Jill sighs. “I told him I couldn’t handle this right now, and I ran away. I feel like such a bitch.”

_ “Hey,” _ Claire says sharply. “You are  _ not _ a ‘bitch’ for needing some space from a man who just showed how fucking terrifying he can be.” Her blue eyes impale Jill, rooting her to the spot. She supposes she’s just getting out all of the self-loathing comments now, like  _ I should have reacted better _ or  _ I should be stronger than that. _

“I know,” she admits begrudgingly. “But—”

“Nuh-uh,” Claire interrupts. “No buts. You did the right thing. What would you have done if you stayed? Would you have even been able to look him in the eye? Would you have let him walk you home?”

Jill considers this. She probably would have started crying on the spot, and if there’s one thing she hates more than anything else, it’s looking weak in front of others. That would have been too embarrassing, and she would have ended up running away no matter what. So, maybe she did make the right call. She saved herself from feeling more shame than she deserved to feel by leaving before things could get too complicated. 

“You’re right,” she finally breathes, feeling a fraction of the weight lift from her shoulders as she slumps against the counter again. “God, it just feels like…”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m in a rom-com, Claire,” Jill says quickly, embarrassed to say the words out loud. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, about them, and I brought it up with Carlos…”

“You  _ actually _ said that to Carlos?” Claire says, laughing over ‘actually.’ “Wow, you’re more of a sap than I give you credit for, cadet.”

“Shut. Up,” Jill grits out, though she can’t keep a smile off of her face. She feels a million times better now that Claire is here, and she pledges to herself then and there, as they smile and laugh with each other at the kitchen counter, that she will  _ never _ keep her out of her personal affairs ever again.

“Come on,” Claire suddenly says, shimmying off the counter and walking toward the living room. “Let’s get some snacks and watch a movie.”

“You sure?” Jill asks, already reaching for the cupboard with chips and cookies. “It’s kind of late.”

“So let’s have a sleepover! Girls night,” Claire calls from beyond the wall.

Jill laughs quietly to herself. “Fine,” she mumbles. She grabs a bag of Tostitos and a package of Oreos. A curious combo, to be sure, but she knows that they’ll mow through them both nonetheless.

Having collected the snacks, Jill follows Claire into the living room, where the other girl is grabbing the remote and turning on the TV while lounging on the couch. The sight makes Jill think of a more modern, less-scantily-clad Kate Winslet.

“Move over, French girl,” Jill says, nudging Claire’s legs away from the spot she intends to claim on the couch. Claire doesn’t look away from the TV as she scours Netflix, but she dutifully curls her long, elegant legs closer into herself.

“What do you want to watch?” She asks, and Jill is slightly taken aback. She thought Claire would automatically pick another rom-com, and to be honest, Jill wouldn’t have a problem with it, at least tonight. But the fact that Claire even asked in the first place is enough to make her feel seen.

“Kill Bill,” is what slips from her tongue, near-automatically. Claire tears her gaze away from the TV and their eyes meet. A smile creeps up her face.

“A woman of class,” Claire appraises proudly, and keys the title into the search bar. She presses play, and they begin to tear into their snacks. 

At some point, she starts to feel sleepy and lays her head on Claire’s shoulder. She doesn’t remember much after that, aside from the warm feeling beginning to encapsulate her, and the way Claire’s chest rumbles with the little comments she makes throughout the movie. The sensations slowly, inevitably, drag her into a peaceful sleep.

When she wakes, Jill feels hot all over. She kicks something off of her recumbent body and sits up quickly, blinking at the sunlight that fills her living room. She wipes the gunk out of her eyes, almost forgetting  _ why _ she ended up on the couch the night before. It almost feels like she got the short end of the stick after a one night stand.

Jill stretches and, with the tensing of her muscles, yawns loud enough to wake up the eastern States a bit early. She looks down at the floor, and crumpled beside the couch is a comforter that Claire must have draped over her at some point. From the hallway comes a smell of pancakes, wafting through the air and drawing Jill to her feet. She breathes the scent in deeply, a feeling of appreciation for Claire, strong like a gale, coursing through her.

“‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Claire greets when Jill shuffles into the kitchen, hands occupied with flipping pancakes and twisting the pan this way and that to be able to reach them. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Jill says, slipping into a stool beside the kitchen counter. 

“What, are my pancakes that bad?” Claire asks, back to Jill. Her tone is teasing, but Jill picks up on that a bit too late.

“No, I didn’t—” 

“Relax, Jill,” Claire interrupts chuckling. “I’m messing with you. Seriously, sounds like you need to lighten up. Take a mental health day or something.”

Jill almost scoffs and immediately brushes the idea away. Then, she takes a moment to ponder the idea. What she really could use is a day away from all of the bullshit: the sounds, the feelings, the thoughts. (The reminders of Carlos.)

“Eh, you like that idea, huh?” Claire asks, and when she turns her head ninety degrees to look at her out of the corner of her eye, Jill can see half of a wide smile on her face. 

“Yeah,” she admits, balancing her head between two hands as she cups the sides of her own face, leaning against the counter. “Those pancakes smell amazing, by the way.” 

“Cooking is one of the few things I remember from my mom’s rigorous housewife training,” Claire jokes, turning back to the stove. “I’ve always been a damn good chef.” 

Claire doesn’t talk too much about her parents but from what she has let slip, Jill knows that Chris was always the golden boy praised by his parents almost daily while Claire stewed in the background, always wanting her chance in the spotlight but never getting it because she did “artsy, impractical” things like star in the high school plays and musicals. There’s invariably a slight bite to her words when she brings up those days. Jill also knows that the best way to respond to such things is with sarcasm, to take the edge out of Claire’s tone and bring her mood back up once again.

“Right,” Jill scoffs. “Those pancakes really set you apart, Redfield.”

“I know you’d kill to have me to come home to, cadet,” Claire singsongs, finally turning off the flame and lifting the pan off of the stove. “Get me a plate, will ya?”

Jill laughs, shifting off of the stool and reaching into the cupboard. “All right, trophy wife.”

Jill remembers the last time she was here. Spring break, her junior year at RU, on a “camping trip” with a few of her friends, who were somehow able to wrangle her out of whatever volunteer program she had been planning on doing to pass the time. They brought more vodka than water and, as a result, couldn’t set up their tents properly, losing a lot of sleep to the cold night. 

Today, Jill isn’t here to get wasted and set up a shitty bonfire. No, today she wears hiking boots and shoulders a backpack filled with snacks and a fucking gargantuan bottle of water. She might have overdressed with a t-shirt and jeans, but she feels comfortable.

At the foot of the trail, Jill inspects the wooden sign that marks it.  _ Arklay Mountain Trails, _ it reads, in extravagant golden cursive, with a green background and floral ornaments lining the sides. She scoffs when she notices the small desecrations some people have committed upon the sign: Below the title, someone has spray-painted “Get Ark-laid!” in loud, unwelcome orange over the original subtitle, which is now indiscernible. There are also a few cartoon penises superimposed over the flowers. Who knows; maybe Jill’s group added a few of them.

Jill starts on her way up the trail. It’s been a long time since she’s done anything like this, especially alone. She had always had trouble understanding the concept of getting to know oneself before getting to know others: how do you really “get to know yourself” anyway? The one thing Jill had known about herself that never changed was that she wanted to get the hell away from home and do things that were bigger than Nowheresville, Midwestern United States. And that had always been enough for her.

She had been surprising her old self lately, though, going far outside of her comfort zone in a lot of ways that she wouldn’t have expected. Exhibit A: what she’s doing right now,  _ going on a hike, _ which sounds so unlike her that she wonders whether she actually consciously made the decision to hop on a bus here or she’s just in a daydream, some ideal day that she lusts after in her waking hours.

Jill looks up from her feet, trudging along the dirt trail, and squints at the sun hiding behind a tall and beautiful tree. Definitely here.

The silence is broken periodically by birdcalls. Jill feels so out of her element, being used to the bustling of the city and all of the things that could happen at any given time, but she finds herself smiling as she continues up the trail. There’s a peak she has in mind, one where she’ll hopefully be able to see for miles around and spot Raccoon City in the distance. In the meantime, though, with the only sounds to accompany her being the birdcalls and the crunching of her boots against the ground, Jill is happy to reflect on things or simply walk with a blessedly empty mind.

In fact, these surroundings are making it far easier to distract herself from thoughts of Carlos, with the contrast of the weather and the emotions charging the air. What happened yesterday feels like a fever dream, one of the bad ones that leaves you dripping with sweat and with a racing heart that threatens to beat out of your chest. 

Jill shakes her head to rid herself of the thought and impulsively reaches backward into her backpack. She brought enough trail mix to support five people, and she heard somewhere that snacking is a pretty good way to distract yourself from whatever’s bothering you.

With a plastic container of assorted nuts, raisins, and M&M’s in hand, Jill begins picking at them piece by piece, slowly but surely demolishing the contents. That thing she heard is true — food really is the universal solution; she’s able to focus on walking, eating, and following any subtle sound she hears with her gaze. It’s the cop training slipping through the cracks.

The sun rises higher in the sky as Jill ascends the mountain. The one she’s hiking doesn’t even break a thousand feet, but it sure is a great workout; she feels her thighs burning about halfway up. At a couple points, a felled log lies adjacent to the trail, and Jill either takes a minute to sit and breathe or hops up onto it and walks along it like a balance beam, arms extended to either side of her as she puts one foot in front of the other. Damn, she’s having fun, the most fun she’s had in years, if she’s being honest.

Eventually, Jill happens upon a sign where three trails seem to converge. She vaguely remembers a blue square, a red square, and a green square on the first sign, distinguishing the three. Jill followed the blue one. The other two must have their own charm that she might have to check out another day.  _ 100 Feet To Summit, _ the sign reads. Jill wonders how long she’s been hiking, if it’s been thirty minutes or two hours, but the time breezed by nonetheless.

She nods and continues upward. The air hasn’t gotten any thinner; she’s not high up enough for that, but it does feel hotter. Jill can feel sweat dripping down her sides and she wipes frequently at her upper lip. She remembers her gigantic water bottle and pulls it out of her bag, taking a generous swig and instantly feeling cooler with the way the liquid soothes her dry throat.

Before she knows it, she’s at a clearing, and there’s no mountain left to climb. Jill looks up from the ground, where she’d been focusing, and sees three logs lined up like a row of benches near the edge of the clearing, looking out into the great beyond. 

As Jill gets closer to the logs, she can see more and more of the impressive view. She sets her sight on the middle log and swings her legs over it, taking a comfortable seat and shrugging her bag off of her shoulders. She digs out the second container of trail mix, with identical contents to the first, and starts tucking into that one as she focuses on the great beyond. To the middle-right is an outcrop of tall buildings, and Jill recognizes it as downtown Raccoon by the Umbrella logo on the near side of one of the skyscrapers. The fact that she can see the red-and-white logo from all the way back here is evidence enough of their conceitedness as a company.

In the silence, Jill feels a strange sensation: contentedness. It’s foreign, thanks to her commitment to the worker bee lifestyle, never taking a break from the struggles of her own life to spend some time with herself, at least with a clear head. She’s been drunk or high and as a result able to forget her problems for a few hours at a time, but those experiences have nothing on this, where it’s just  _ her _ , unflappable and unapologetic, and the rest of the world is on the back burner. Nobody can fuck with this sense of calm that Jill can feel in her bones. She toys with a walnut, giving it a tour of her teeth by pushing it around with her tongue, before biting down on it, the sound as it snaps in two a satisfying  _ crunch. _

Twenty minutes later, after she’s had her fill of the view (and of the trail mix), she descends the mountain, feeling a bit more ready to face the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (side note: it took me three fucking tries to remember which kate was in titanic. my thoughts went "kate mckinnon? definitely not. wait! cate blanchett! oh, it's not her? OHHHH, kate winslet. yessss.")
> 
> i hope you guys liked this chapter! as of right now, the writing/posting schedule is pretty tentative as i am feeling either the effects of burnout or the need to focus on other things.
> 
> i want to thank you all for your constant and very vocal support of this fic. it just means a lot that you guys are willing to wait and savor what i've written. dunno when chapter ten is coming out, or what it's going to include, but i know that i WANT to finish this story, for you guys.
> 
> leave a comment/kudos if you liked this! next chapter coming (hopefully) soon.


	10. round 10 (knockout)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At first, Jill hadn’t known whether or not it would be a good idea to return to the gym. The gym meant Carlos, and she had planned on avoiding Carlos for the foreseeable future. At least, that was before she took the much needed “mental health day” that Claire had suggested. When she returned home from the mountain trail, she’d felt impossibly lighter, as if the events of the day before hadn’t even happened, or maybe they had and the emotional weight of them simply felt easier to bear. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i don't know if this feels jarring to you guys, but this is the final chapter! before i say anything else, i have a few people to thank for their constant support: MagnificentKiwi, whatsarasays, Cheesy Bird, and Franivia, thank you all for your in-depth comments. they were all so entertaining and heartwarming to read, and i owe you a lot: i.e. the motivation to finish this story that i was originally not able to complete. 
> 
> this chapter is SIX THOUSAND WORDS. enjoy this behemoth. it's a rollercoaster. and THANK YOU FOR READING.

At first, Jill hadn’t known whether or not it would be a good idea to return to the gym. The gym meant Carlos, and she had planned on avoiding Carlos for the foreseeable future. At least, that was before she took the much needed “mental health day” that Claire had suggested. When she returned home from the mountain trail, she’d felt impossibly lighter, as if the events of the day before hadn’t even happened, or maybe they had and the emotional weight of them simply felt easier to bear.

She had convinced herself to return by promising that she would sign up with Tyrell as her coach for her sessions (possibly _session,_ depending on how awkward it could get with Carlos).

But when Jill pushes through the gym’s front door, and she completes a full sweep of the gigantic room, she doesn’t see Carlos.

Mikhail’s voice startles her. “Looking for Carlos, are we?” He asks, and Jill nearly jumps out of her shoes. She clutches her heart and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, schooling her features. When she opens them, Mikhail is looking at her with a devilish Slavic grin, one that embarrasses her more than creeps her out. 

Jill deflects. “Where’s Tyrell?” She asks, gripping at the hem of her tank top and pulling gently. _Gently,_ because she doesn’t want to flash Mikhail. His grin smooths out slightly, and he points to the close corner to Jill’s right. Sure enough, there Tyrell is, jump-roping with a mix of finesse and pragmatism that Jill is mesmerized by, hands gripping the ends of the rope loosely and surely at the same time. Seconds later, she snaps out of her distraction and walks up to him.

Noticing her out of the corner of his eye, Tyrell immediately stops jump-roping and starts coiling the rope around his palm. She could probably watch that for days, too, if she’s being honest. “You really like that thing, huh?” She asks, shouldering her equipment bag. 

“I’ve won a few competitions,” he says offhandedly, and Jill laughs. When he fixes her with a look, she immediately stops.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Boxing conventions,” he elaborates. “Some people like to make dumb contests out of the mundane things… like jump-rope. I always kill that shit.”

The smile returns to Jill’s face. “Well, do forgive me for interrupting you,” she says, dropping her equipment bag on the floor and reaching for the zipper. “But I was kind of excited about getting to punch somebody again.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while since your last session, huh?” She hears Tyrell ask from her crouched position, but something in his tone makes her almost look up and gauge his expression. She avoids the impulse and pulls her gloves out of the bag.

“Too long,” she simply replies. 

“Every day you go without boxing is too long, Jill,” Tyrell responds, returning from the equipment rack with two mitts secured over his hands. “Let’s get started.”

Just like last time she had Tyrell for a coach, he works the hell out of her, reminding her of the importance of keeping her hands up as he pelts her with numerous slaps to the face. He doesn’t get too enthusiastic, but she takes enough hits to the point that she feels a slight sting start to develop on her cheek. At one point, she winces at another of his punishing strikes, and Tyrell immediately drops his hands. “You want me to quit that?” He asks, voice level, unlike hers when she finally speaks after taking a deep breath.

“No, it’s fine,” she dismisses, “It’s a good reminder.” Without realizing, she sweeps the gym again for Carlos, in every corner: near Mikhail’s desk, by the punching bags, the maize balls, the ring. She sees nobody aside from a few other trainers leaning against the far wall, shooting the shit. Disappointment rises within her, unbidden and tasting like bile.

“He took his break when your block came up on the schedule,” Tyrell suddenly says, forcing her to turn back to him.

Jill is somewhat disheartened, but also grateful. She had been pondering the possibility of talking it out with Carlos at the gym, but Jill realizes that she wouldn’t feel totally comfortable on his ‘home turf,’ so to speak. If and when they do talk it out, Jill wants it to be on her terms.

Still, Jill can’t keep herself from asking, “Why?” She’s curious what Tyrell will say, whether he will sell out his friend or play coy about it, the latter of which she expects.

“Ain’t it obvious?” He asks instead, making Jill’s eyes widen. “He’s ashamed.”

_Ashamed._ That single word confirms the thought that Jill had already been harboring: Carlos is not a bad man. The furthest from one, in fact. 

“He told you about… what happened?” Jill asks.

“Jill, Carlos would probably tell me the color of his underwear if I asked him. That man cannot keep any secrets.” Tyrell realizes the mistake of his statement nearly the second Jill does, characterized by a slight wince. “At least, he can’t keep any secrets with _me._ ”

The correction sends a twinge of familiar sadness through Jill, the same she felt whenever she could tell that Carlos was lying to her, either by omission or simply a bald-faced one that he gritted out with squinting eyes as if he didn’t want to see her reaction.

“Whatever,” she deflects, putting her hands back up. “I’m gonna punch you in five seconds, you decide if you put your hands up.”

Quickly, Tyrell protects his face, chuckling. “I like your drive.”

The rest of the lesson is a quiet affair, and Jill doesn’t let herself slip once, diligently keeping her hands up and going just as hard as Tyrell does. When time is up, they’re both winded, and they take a moment to lean against the wall by the equipment rack, catching their breath.

“Thanks,” Jill says, gesticulating mildly, “for the lesson. And…” Tyrell turns to her. It’s like he knows what she’s going to say before she says it. The look in his eye almost makes her pause, but eventually she lets out, “for telling me about Carlos.”

“Call it a public service,” he says dismissively. Jill laughs one last time before popping off of the wall and returning to her equipment bag, stuffing her gloves in unceremoniously.

“See ya,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks to the door.

An hour later, when Jill is at home resting with a show on in the background while she lounges on the couch, she remembers what Tyrell said back at the gym.

_Ain’t it obvious? He’s ashamed._

Does that make Carlos a coward, or does it make him respectful? Jill weighs the two possibilities. For the part of herself that is of the “coward” persuasion, she thinks, _What, he can’t face me after what he did?_

But, then again, didn’t Jill do the same thing? She ran. She got the hell out of Dodge before Carlos could have said anything to explain himself.

_You are not a bitch for needing some space from a man who just showed how fucking terrifying he can be._ Claire’s words, not hers, but they ring true, much like everything else that girl says. Jill can’t start down this avenue again, not after she only just turned off of it. 

In terms of the hypothetical — no, obvious — respect that Carlos has for her, Jill has to admit that making sure you aren’t seen by the woman you just scared away is a pretty honorable thing to do. It just seems a bit overboard, much like a lot of other things about Carlos. For example, his enthusiastic flirtations. For another, those goddamn _biceps…_

Jill shakes away the thought. _Focus._ She can agree with both viewpoints, but indecision is not an option here. She’s always been a decisive person. Set on what she wanted to do when she grew up. Set on where she wanted to go for college. Set on how old she wanted to live to become. She isn’t quite set on Carlos yet, and that bothers her endlessly. Does she want to give Carlos another chance; that is the million-dollar question.

Jill pretends to forget what both Claire and Tyrell said, and focus on her own thoughts and convictions. Advice from other people can only get you so far, she supposes. When it boils down to it, she still likes him and definitely wants to hear him out. Even if he can’t redeem himself to her, Jill hates when things don’t end properly. She deserves closure — they _both_ do —not the half-ending that they left each other with.

With a sigh, Jill pulls her phone out of the pocket of her sweatpants, and begins drafting a text to Carlos.

**Jill:**

_We should talk._

No, Jill thinks. It’s too demanding. No matter how much she wants to be in control of this situation, she still has some semblance of manners. She deletes the text and tries again.

**Jill:**

_I think we should meet up and talk some things over._

Something still feels ambiguous about the way she phrases it. Jill groans and gets rid of that one too.

**Jill:**

_Hey, can we meet up and talk about what happened?_

Jill likes that one; she presses send without a regret. Her eyes widen in surprise when the little bubble on Carlos’s side of the screen pops up instantly. She wants to feel flustered, but is more grateful that he didn’t leave her to stew in her pit of conflicting emotions.

**Rocky:**

_Sure, where?_

Jill makes a sad noise when she realizes she never changed his contact name. When she thinks about it, such things are petty, requiring too much energy and a bit too much caring to actually execute. Maybe she had never wanted to give up on Carlos in the first place.

**Jill:**

_You know that park in Glendale?_

**Rocky:**

_O’Malley?_

**Jill:**

_That’s the one. Can you meet me there tomorrow at 5?_

**Rocky:**

_Yeah. I’ll be there, by the ball field_

**Jill:**

_See you then._

Carlos’s typing bubble shows up for a few seconds, then disappears into the white nothingness of her phone screen. Jill misses it dearly, half-expecting him to come up with some last-second jab that would make her roll her eyes or scoff a laugh. Nothing of the sort arrives, and something within Jill feels empty.

She supposes she just has to wait until tomorrow.

_O’Malley Park,_ reads the sign that Jill stands in front of, under a decal of a leaf, characteristic of the Raccoon City Parks Department. She looks beyond it into the park itself, lush with tall green trees and thriving shrubbery, asphalt paths cutting through the grass like dark grey snakes. The sun shines bright today, but its effect is weakened by the canopy of green that shields much of its light.

Jill walks through the gate and feels a sense of calm wash over her, not unlike the one she got on the mountain trail. That might have subconsciously been one of the reasons why she picked this spot for their… meeting. God, that sounds so formal, like they’re going to discuss some new piece of information that was just released on a corporate memo. _Re: Much needed talk between two confused adults. All employees must attend._

She shakes the thought from her head, her eyes sweeping the park. Carlos said he’d be by the ball field, but not specifically where. She considers getting pissed at him when she _does_ find him, but anger is exhausting, if she’s learned anything recently. Either way, she doesn’t mind a little detective work.

Around a few trees, Jill spots a tall wall of chain-link fence, on the inside of which is a blue tarp. The fence stretches around a large patch of grass, and in the distance she can see a baseball diamond. _The ball field._ She turns a corner around the fence, and thankfully from there it isn’t too hard to find him.

Jill spots Carlos sitting by one of the benches behind the dugout, hands clasped tightly between his legs, which are spread wide as he leans forward and looks at the ground in front of him. Dressed in a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and those stupid fucking boots, he’s significantly overdressed for the mid-June heat, usually-full hair drooping with what looks like the beginnings of sweat. He looks dormant, mind blank aside from what he came out to do. Jill’s stomach flutters at the sight of him, reminding her of the better times.

She makes her way over and announces her presence by plopping herself down onto the bench next to him. The gesture is a bit comfortable for the circumstances, surprising Carlos as he lifts his head out of his lap and looks at her with a shocked expression. It reminds Jill of a deer in headlights.

“Hi,” she says, her voice level and professional, like she’s in for a job interview.

“Hi,” Carlos replies, his voice gravelly and soft. A familiar rush travels through Jill and makes her leg want to start tapping skittishly on the ground. She keeps from submitting to the urge.

“I’m gonna have to go back a long way to really explain myself, if you have the patience to listen,” is how Carlos starts, without any preamble. Jill appreciates it; she wouldn’t have been able to make small talk.

“Go ahead,” she urges. She digs her butt deeper into the bench and considers crossing her legs over each other. They could be here for a while.

“Okay,” he says, with a heavy exhale. “Well, I was a pretty angry kid.” _Kid?_ Jill thinks. What, is he going to give her his whole life story? 

(Does she really have a problem with that, though? All the time they’d been involved with each other, and even before that, she’d felt the urge to learn anything and everything she could about him without prying. Now he’s handing that information up on a silver platter, no uncomfortably digging questions or “red-light-green-light” necessary.)

Jill decides to let him continue.

“When I still lived in Brazil, I was always getting into fights with the kids at school, when they crossed me, or maybe even looked at me wrong.” He pauses, as if wondering how to word something. “Kids used to call me Anderson Silva.”

Jill blanks. “Who?”

“The biggest Brazilian MMA star, probably ever…” he explains, a note of surprise worming its way into his voice, but he shakes his head and continues. “Anyway. My parents eventually made enough money to bring us to the States. But then, for some reason, my dad wanted to stay.” His voice hardens over his next words. “Something about not wanting to _lose the spirit of the homeland_. Total bullshit, but he wouldn’t budge. My mom was devastated, so she pretty much begged my grandma — her mom — to come with us. It took a lot of convincing, but eventually she agreed, so long as we would be there to help.”

“Do you ever miss your dad?” The question slips from Jill’s lips before she can stop it, and she realizes how dumb it is when he laughs, dry and full of hatred.

“ _Hell_ , no,” Carlos replies, nearly sounding wounded. “He was too much of a pussy to come with us to America, he doesn’t deserve my sympathy. Either that,” he bristles suddenly, “or he was cheating on my mom.”

Jill doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she simply prompts, “Keep going.”

“Right. So, I was 10 when we came to the U.S. I knew a little English, but I had to make up for it with a lot of TV and a little bit of tutoring. My mom was working her ass off to pay for those classes, and I learned enough to get by.

“I never really considered college,” he continues. “The second I graduated high school, which I fought for tooth and nail, pretty much, I went into the workforce. I wanted to take some of the load off my mom’s back, you know?” His voice begins to pick up speed, sounding more and more animated. It gives him a sort of gravitational pull that Jill has to hold onto the side rail of the bench in order to avoid.

“She was all, _It’s all right, Carlitos. You don’t need to do that._ But I felt like I had to. I took on a bunch of jobs, just so I could see my mom smile when I got my paycheck. I felt amazing, like I was really doing something.

“Something I never told her about was that a lot of the reason I was getting good money was because I was boxing. I found Mick’s gym and fell in love with it. It was my favorite way to vent my anger. One day, Mick comes up to me and he says, ‘You are good fighter. I coach you, you kick ass. Good money.’” Carlos affects a poor imitation of the man’s accent on those words. “And I was hooked. I was damned good, too. And even if I wasn’t, you make money when you lose. Who woulda thought, right? I bought nicer things for my mom and grandma with that money and gave them some reassurance about paying the bills.

“I met a girl… Carmela,” he says the name with a little bit of trouble, like it pains him. A chill runs through Jill’s body at the mention of her, remembering the way the woman nearly spat in Carlos’s face on his and Jill’s first date. It makes sense now. “We were good together. She saw my softer side. I could have loved her, maybe.

“One Mother’s Day, I was driving me and my mom home after we went out for dinner. She was wearing this beautiful red dress that she’d saved up for, and she looked so happy. The restaurant was in a quieter part of town, so there weren’t too many cars on the street.”

From the way he loses some of his steam, looking down at the ground, Jill can tell that this is where it gets bad. She allows him to press on.

“We pulled up to this empty intersection, and when the light turned green, I didn't even bother looking both ways before gunning it. That was all it took.” When Carlos looks up at her, his deep gaze is marked by glassy eyes. He takes a shaky breath. 

“Some drunk guy was speeding down the road and hit us full force from the side. My mom’s side. The car was totaled, and my mom was pretty much... dead on impact. And I was fucking _peachy_ compared to her,” his voice cracks there. “Some bruises, a concussion, and a broken heart.”

Jill’s grip on the metal armrest of the bench tightens to the point of her hand sporting a ghostly whiteness. _What the fuck, I’m so sorry,_ she wants to say, but Carlos isn’t done, it seems.

“I let everything go to shit after that. I wanted to fight, sure, but Mick didn’t let me. He saw how fucked up I was. Told me to take some time off. My grandma tried to keep me grounded, but that didn’t work for too long. I started drinking, heavily. I put on a lot of weight.” Jill must blanch at that, because a hint of a smile appears on his face as Carlos says, “Yeah, I know. I’m already huge. But it happened anyway.

“I tried to push Carmela away by acting like a complete asshole. I think you can tell it worked. I drank more and more every day, until one night, I almost got blackout drunk in some bar. They called the cops to escort me home, but when they came, I freaked out. I wouldn’t tell them where I lived, and when they tried to forcibly remove me, I punched one of them in the face. Knocked that fucker out, landed myself in jail. They sentenced me to two years for assault of an officer.”

_Holy shit,_ Jill thinks. Those two words amplify themselves and repeat over and over in her head, flat but frantic, filling up every nook and cranny of her mind.

“My grandma visited every week, and I felt like such an asshole for leaving her. I don’t know how she survived without me… not to sound selfish or anything, it’s just the truth.

“I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself, and I would put more critical thought into sneaking a bottle of rum here and there, instead of self-reflection. But then I met Tyrell. He was in there for possession, and had been for a few years.”

_Before the gym,_ Jill remembers.

She must have thought aloud, because Carlos nods and says, “‘Before the gym,’ yeah. Code for ‘prison.’ He basically helped me set myself straight. Put me on a workout regimen, if you can believe that. I started working on myself. I read a few books. T got out a few months before me, and I told him before he left to go check out Mick’s gym. By the time it was my turn to leave, I kind of missed the structure that prison life had. 

“But I made it out, and Mick welcomed me with open arms. I couldn’t bring myself to box again, but he offered me a job as a coach. My grandma tore me a new one and then made sure that I basically never left her sight again. I resented it for a little while, but I knew it was good for me. I’ve been working at the gym ever since. I met you five months after I was let out of prison.

“And that’s what I should have told you before we could have gotten any further, Jill. I’m sorry. You deserve better. I just… when I heard what that guy was saying, I couldn’t just stand by, you know? I wasn’t even the target and I was feeling every single word.”

With that, he takes a deep breath, and Jill waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He’s simply allowing her to sit in the wake of what could be called a doozy of a confessional. All of the puzzle pieces that had been floating around her head for the past few weeks have now finally fit themselves snugly together, creating an ugly, yet honest picture. Jill tries to remember that she is scared of Carlos, that he is still the one who brutalized the man who catcalled her without so much as a second thought. When the image does come to her mind, though, she can’t see it through the blue and cold filter, brought upon her by fear and emptiness of the heart, but with startling clarity, because now she _understands._ And that is enough to make Jill forget her fear.

“That wasn’t your call to make,” she finally says, because she doesn’t know how else to accept his apology.

Carlos sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

Jill shrugs, as Carlos turns his gaze to the side. “I mean,” she says, “if I cared a little bit less about keeping myself in check, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

His attention snaps back to her just as quickly as it had shifted. “Really?” He asks, surprised.

Jill grins sadly. “Hell, yeah. It’s the worst feeling in the world to be talked to and looked at like that.”

“I can’t imagine, Jill,” Carlos says, his eyes falling to his lap. “I’m sorry.”

Her grin settles into a smile. Why is he apologizing for her grief when it’s clear he suffers under a mountain of his own? 

“I know,” she says because she can tell that he isn’t lying, that he’s trying to understand the pain that is actually at the back of the back of her mind in this moment.

Carlos blows air out of the side of his mouth, leaning back against the park bench. “So, I guess you have to go find a new boxing coach, huh?” He asks.

Jill frowns. “What?”

Carlos’s gaze hardens in his own confusion, as if what he just said is a given that she had already accepted. “A new boxing coach,” he repeats, his tone flat, “Since you don’t want to do… this anymore.” He gestures between himself and her. 

Jill bites back a laugh. “You make a lot of assumptions, Carlos,” she says, shaking her head. 

“What?” He asks dumbly.

Jill takes the opportunity to toy with him. “You think you know things, so you form opinions on those things that aren’t yours to form opinions on—”

Carlos holds up an interrupting hand. “I know what it means, Jill,” he says, sounding tired. “Just… what do you mean? Beyond the literal definition.”

“Tyrell is one hell of a boxing coach, but I never said I didn’t want to do ‘this’ anymore,” Jill explains, gesturing between herself and Carlos in a mockery of his previous gesticulation. He watches, slightly dumbfounded. She takes this as an invitation to continue speaking. “To be honest, watching you beat up that guy was both the scariest…” Carlos winces, “and the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Jill surprises herself with her own boldness.

His eyes widen in surprise for an instant, then settle back to normal. “I… don’t know how to take that,” he admits, looking like he wants to laugh but not knowing if it’s appropriate. “Is that supposed to be a backhanded compliment?”

Jill shrugs. “It’s just a statement.”

“So what are you trying to state?”

All or nothing, right? Jill takes a deep breath. “I still like you, Carlos. My mind was clouded for a while because I didn’t know what to think about what happened that day, but now my head is clear. And I still like you…” she notices that familiar glint appearing in his eyes that warns of an imminent joke, and tacks on, “for some reason.”

Carlos huffs a laugh. “‘For some reason.’ I can’t help but agree.”

Jill sighs in slight exasperation. “You’re a good guy, okay?” She implores. “I know you only did what you did because you… care. And that’s enough for me. Just don’t go beating up random people.”

He nods at the second part, but then he scoffs, clearly unable to not put a joking twist on every little thing she says. “Hell,” he begins, and Jill already has an idea of what’s about to come out of his mouth next. “If I’d known you were so easy to please I would have asked you out first.”

That surprises her, because there’s some truth to it. Maybe she really had been “easy to please” this whole time, but didn’t open herself up to the opportunity to find someone who could understand her because she was so focused on matters she considered more pressing. But she can’t tell him that he basically has her figured out. That’s why she smiles faintly when she says, “Shut up.”

“Okay, okay,” Carlos says, putting his hands up in surrender but still smiling, “shutting up.”

Jill looks at him long and hard, which he matches for a second before losing his nerve and looking down at his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap.

“Come here,” she says quietly.

Jill grabs the sides of Carlos’s face, pulls him toward her, and kisses him gently on the lips, a sweet and short thing. She pulls away just as quickly as she swooped in, watching Carlos process.

“Oh,” is the extent of his reaction, but Jill can see the gears turning in his head. His hesitance still amuses her. For such an outwardly bold man, he sure lacks initiative. It’s something Jill finds cute. After all, she’s always liked taking control.

She giggles. “Yeah, oh.”

Carlos seems to regain some semblance of his familiar confidence after a moment. “By the way, I still like you too,” he replies, sounding serious despite how obvious the statement seems to her.

Jill sighs. “I know, dumbass,” she says, the name slipping from her tongue affectionately. “Get back here.”

The second time she kisses him, he’s expecting it.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Something Jill discovers as her relationship with Carlos progresses is that they balance each other out, near-perfectly. When it comes to the more intimate aspects of their relationship, Jill is usually in control. A couple of times, though, she’s egged Carlos on, making digs at his lack of initiative (which piss him off to no end, she’s elated to find out) and as a result been swept off her feet — sometimes literally — by the way he loses his trademark docility for an intense look in his eye and a searing kiss that he plants on her lips to show Jill that, as a matter of fact, _she_ _hasn’t seen the half of it._

In turn, Carlos is always the one to remind her to “fucking take it easy for one afternoon, you’re working yourself into the ground and digging you out is never fun.” Indeed, many late nights that Jill spends poring over her work from the precinct are interrupted by Carlos coming out of the bedroom to drag her in with him. 

She likes the game that they play on nights like this, which always starts with a shirtless Carlos leaning against the doorframe of her office, arms balancing on the outer edges of said doorframe, and maybe subtly flexing his biceps to put on a show, but Jill is often too flustered at this point to say anything about it. _“Come to bed,”_ he’ll say, in a voice deepened to a seductive baritone by sleep. That’s another thing; Carlos seems to have a _sense_ for these nights, knowing intrinsically that Jill is going to get far fewer than her work-recommended six hours of sleep.

_“Okay,”_ she’ll relent, after raking her eyes hungrily over Carlos’s body. She’ll never get sick of the sight. _“Just let me finish reading over this one thing…”_

And Carlos will take a step into the office, one huge stride that covers the distance between the door and the edge of Jill’s desk. _“Nope, not an option, super-cop.”_ Then he’ll pause, and amend, “ _Or is it super-_ detective _now?”_

_“Doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?”_ She’ll say coyly, batting her eyelashes at him. He’ll smile at that, knowing exactly what she’s doing, and then lean over the desk so that he hovers above, casting a hulking shadow over her paperwork.

_“What, you want me to carry you? Because I will carry you. I will drag you,”_ he says, leaning slightly closer with each word, _“kicking,”_ closer, ” _and screaming,”_ he’s so impossibly close now that Jill can feel the ghost of his lips over hers, _“to bed with me.”_

And then Jill will pull away, grinning devilishly at the irritation in Carlos’s eyes. He’s learned to temper the extent of his emotions slightly. She’s convinced it’s a latent effect of her proximity to him, the thought of which always makes her heart race.

_“I like the thought of you making me scream,”_ she might say. Or maybe she’ll make a show of putting the paperwork away, bending over her work bag as she stuffs the files back into the pocket. Invariably, Carlos will groan with agitation.

The end result is Jill and Carlos curled up together in bed, her head resting on his broad chest. It’s the soft moments like these, Jill thinks, that make her glad she put herself out there for this particular guy.

Sometimes Carlos has a bad day, where he barely holds back from going apeshit on someone. Sometimes it’s Tyrell, sometimes it’s Mikhail. Jill doesn’t show up as often to the gym for lessons anymore, so the extent of her experience with Carlos in a rage is when he directs his anger at _her._ Even if he’s so pissed he could fight King Kong, Carlos will try to limit his aggression when she’s around. But eventually, something will set him off, and he’ll either swear loudly or throw something across the room, and she will tell him in a calm, yet forceful voice to _Take a walk and come back when you feel better._

He likes his solitude, which is something she learned early on. It’s what helped him think his way through the process of deciding to come clean to Jill; sure, he’d told Tyrell what happened, but apparently never asked him for advice on how to handle the situation. 

He’s a smart guy, smarter than most would give him credit for. He can tell when she’s feeling burnout from work and is always prepared with a mug of hot cocoa (or a cold bottle of beer, depending on the season) to hand to her without a word, just a knowing look. He can tell when something _really_ pisses her off and won’t hesitate to reach for her hand, which she grabs greedily and squeezes her frustrations into. Sometimes, she tries to make him wince with her grip on purpose, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction at the way his face warps with pain that he is quick to hide.

On one memorable occasion, Jill and Carlos are walking down the street together when a man makes a pass at her, the moment fleeting but the effect lasting. They both wince at the same time, and Jill can see Carlos ball his fists up out of the corner of her eye. Jill herself clamps her mouth shut with an iron jaw and reaches for his hand, slowly coaxing Carlos’s fingers away from his palms and snaking her hand into his. She squeezes it gently.

Carlos squeezes back.

She squeezes again, tighter this time, and he does it again, also tighter. They continue to squeeze each other’s hand with increasing intensity until both of them start making quiet grunts of pain or even halting in their step for an instant to temper the sensation. Jill wins their little competition, but she has a sneaking suspicion that Carlos let her. She likes to lord it over him, even for weeks after the incident, at which he smiles sneakily, both of them knowing what had really happened.

Of all the times and places to propose, Carlos does it when they’re watching a nature documentary on Jill’s couch. When he pulls out the box, Jill nearly smacks it out of his hand, thinking it’s some gag. With his ring box-holding hand shaking, Carlos reaches for the remote that rests on the table and presses the pause button. Carlos looks at Jill, who’s starting to tear up.

“I don’t know if you’re the kind of woman who likes speeches,” he begins, smiling widely in a nervous, uncertain kind of way. “So I’m going to keep this short.”

Jill simply stares back at him, sniffling loudly.

“Jill,” Carlos says. He takes a deep breath before continuing, and holy _fuck_ she wants to slap him for dragging it out like this but she also understands that he needs his time. “Will you marry me?”

Even though she was expecting it, the question leaves her utterly floored. Carlos wants to marry her. _Her._ Jill has no idea how he’s put up with her for these past few years, but she does know that she loves him for it. And isn’t it as simple as that?

“Yes,” Jill says softly, and she laughs breathlessly when Carlos’s smile widens and he pulls her into his lap with little effort.

“Thank God,” he says, and she laughs even harder. “What?”

Jill finishes laughing, and she places a hand on his chest, right over his heart. It’s beating wildly, which makes all of the blood rush to her head. She feels a lump in her throat forming. “I just…” she begins. “I just love you so fucking much. Don’t need to worry about me turning you down.”

In Carlos’s face, she sees a familiar look: hesitance. She knows from that look that he’s hearing what she’s saying, but it’s not completely registering. So she sighs, and leans in to kiss him long, hard, and bruising. His mouth molds comfortably against hers.

When she pulls away, Carlos is grinning proudly, eyes shining, lips heavily swollen. “You,” he says, “have just made me the happiest man alive.”

The funniest part of the whole thing is, after that, they finish the fucking documentary. Jill had been planning on watching it for _weeks,_ thank you very much. Only when the credits roll does she drape herself over Carlos, kissing his neck lazily and forcing him to carry her, koala-style, into the bedroom, where they get into some very wholesome business.

_The_ _End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i hope this felt like a fitting conclusion to this story. i was considering maybe drawing out the climax for two chapters, with the lesson with tyrell and the texting scene being chapter ten, but it flowed better this way, in my opinion. once again, thank you all for your support for this fic. it means the fucking world to me, as i've said before.
> 
> now that we're done with all that, i'm going to put down some ideas that i initially had for this fic. they're pretty funny/interesting if you ask me, but that might be because i'm the writer and i scrapped them. 
> 
> a) Nikolai as an adversary to Carlos, with a scene at some point where Jill watches Carlos beat the shit out of him in the ring after tensions between them come to a head (possibly a fight over Jill, the very idea of which pisses her the fuck off). I'm pretty sure this was an idea that I was really considering putting in the story in the early stages of writing it, but I discarded it when I found this fic again.
> 
> b) Chris and Jill are in a very close romantic relationship, but they have been fighting a lot recently and one of them is so bad that Jill goes out on her own and meets Carlos at a bar, who invites her to his boxing gym, where he teaches her how to take her frustrations out. Eventually... they have sex. She continues a clandestine affair with Carlos, all while still living with Chris. (The reason that this idea was scrapped is because ADULTERY IS BAD. It also reminds me a bit too much of a trashy romance novel.)
> 
> just thought those would be interesting to share. i hope you stick around for other fics that i _may _write for the resident evil fandom, especially carlos and jill! leave a comment and kudos if you liked this story! thank you eternally for reading. see you in the next fic.__

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed that! i had a lot of fun writing it. i've got a few other chapters already written up but this story is definitely still a work in progress.  
> side note: in this story, i've written carlos to be brazilian (what with his last name and all. also portuguese is a dope language. even if it's impossible to pronounce anything.)  
> next chapter should be up soon enough. thank you all for reading and i hope you stick with it! leave kudos and a comment if you reaaally enjoyed it :)  
> until the next!


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